Enter Sandman
by ashlyns
Summary: A Sleep Research Center is closing its doors for good after a rash of mysterious deaths. Something is killing people in their sleep, leaving behind a sprinkle of sand in their eyes…One brother, with a secret 22 yrs hidden will become it’s bait.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural, or the Sandman tales. I just own Wynn and Devon who will come up later!

Author's Note: This is dedicated to Liv and her friend Eva. They know who they are! Thank you for helping me out so much!

Set between Home and Asylum.

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter One**

_Dean Winchester was four. He would proudly announce to anyone who would listen (mainly women because he was so incredibly cute) that he was the best baseball player, basketball player, all around good guy and best big brother ever. _

_For two years, Dean had asked for a little brother religiously. All his friends had little brothers, so he naturally needed to have one as well. Mary, his mother, commented often to her friends and family that it was almost a fashion for him, as much as having the newest toy and clothing. _

_So, John and Mary would never forget the joy they saw on their four-year-old's face when John placed little Samuel in his arms. From that day on their world changed. _

_It hadn't been the best pregnancy for Mary. Unusual though it was, the second pregnancy was harder then the first. Dean had been the perfect angel inside her, except for the occasional kick in the right place. During labor and delivery, he'd seemed to want to introduce himself to the world more then anyone else. Sam had been different. One minute they had wondered if he'd make it and after three miscarries, it was such a joy to hold her second son in her arms. _

_Sam wouldn't sleep through the night but Dean never complained. He was up with John or Mary almost every night, tending to his baby brother. He often fed him and bathed him but refused point blank to change him. Mary agreed. He was the best big brother ever. _

_On the night of November 22, 1983, Dean Winchester looked up at the illuminated interior of his blanket, folded and tucked around him like a tent. He was lying on his stomach, feet on his pillow, head propped on one hand, turning the pages of his book with the other. He'd been told to go straight to sleep but the child had other plans. He could no sooner fall asleep tonight then pull his arms off. _

_Instead, he stayed up defiantly, turning the pages of his book, the light from his flashlight flickering in the still, stuffy air around him and sparking light off the eyes of the monsters before him. They almost seemed alive…almost. _

_His friend, Tomas, had given him a monster book to read. Dean hated reading so instead he stared at the pictures, painted on glossy paper. The Bogeyman and a few ghosts who looked like people in sheets. Dean found a strange thrill in the terror being wrought on his senses with every turn of the page. _

_Another creak in the hall made him click off his flashlight. Maybe Dad had come upstairs to check on him? Perhaps Mom had gone to check on Sammy who was cooing in the other room, across the hall? Dean crawled out from under his blankets, closing his book quietly. He hadn't fought with either of his parents for two days. The last thing he wanted to happen was be scolded for looking at scary pictures when he was supposed to go to sleep. _

_Clowns leered down at him from the shelves around his room, set oddly between race cars and fire trucks. The lack of ticking announced to the silence that his clock had stopped. Maybe it was the Boogeyman out for a stroll in the moonlight? A flash of dark movement caught his eyes and he shifted in bed, watching the hall beyond the crack in his door. The dim hall lights were flickering, sending dancing shadows along the floor and into Sam's room. _

_Plucking up his courage, the child laid the book down on his covers and tip toed to the bedroom door. Peering out, he saw the dark shape walk silently through the hall and into the baby's room, pulling with it all shadow. Dean frowned. Slowly and quietly, he snuck into the hall and moved along the wall, peeking into his mom and dad's room as he crept. The dark shape in bed shifted a little but moved no more. _

_Dean stuck his shaggy head around the corner and peered into the dark room. A dark shadow stood over Sam's crib, black and unmoving. A strange twinge of fear flared inside Dean's chest, painful and clenching in its intensity. Silence and quiet anticipation filled the room, mingling sickeningly with the faint scent of smoke and…_

_Dean had smelled that smell only one other time. Grandma had been in bed, sick and she'd left her body…died. It was the smell he attributed to grandma that day and it sickened him. _

_Dean shivered, straightened his small shoulders and stepped into the cool dark of Sam's bedroom, shoving aside a stuffed animal with his barefoot. The toy squeaked in offense and lay still again, defeated. _

_"Dad?" Dean whispered. The darkness didn't turn and didn't stir. "Daddy?" Dean's voice broke and a cold sweat beaded over his little forehead. He felt the urge to run but a complete inability to move his feet. He should scream, he should run, he should cry out for his mom but he couldn't. He stood there and waited. "Daddy, is Sam okay?" _

_The figure began to move now, slowly. The black outline advanced, backwards it seemed, dragging one leaden foot and then another toward the child. Although it stomped upon the floor enough to vibrate the ground beneath Dean's feet, it made no noise. _

_The little boy backed up and softly thumped into the doorframe behind him, hands whipping out, trying to find the opening. He had to get away; he had to get out into the hall. In the building panic, he heard the soft advertisement jingle of cereal downstairs. _

_Suddenly, something red flashed in the dark above him. Blinking away the blinding fear, he focused on the head of this…thing. It was turning now, slowly, every creak of musty joints sending a cold blast of rotten smelling air over Dean's face. A pair of eyes opened in the shadows, red and gleaming like jewels against the ebony to which they were set. Dean stared, wanting to scream but losing his voice as it met his mouth. Every time he called for his mother, his voice died before it reached his ears. _

_The creature blinked at him, Sammy cooed and Dean screamed noiselessly to the night until one hand snaked out and grabbed his upper arm. Though invisible, the touch burned like fire, sending shards of pain from his fingers to his brain, pulsing the skin it touched into a throbbing mass. Dean wanted to drop to the floor and cry. _

_"Dean." The voice said. It was soft, calm, taunting and cold. He loved it and hated it. It was his beginning and end. If the voice stopped, the pain would stop but he wanted it to continue, because if it ceased, he'd die. "Go back to bed. Forget me." The grip fell away and the pain lessened. Dean stumbled sideways and fell softly into the hall. The figure stood in the doorway, nothing but swirling black with jewel bright eyes. They blazed into the dark and burned their imprints into his eyelids. "Not a word to anyone…ever." _

_The four-year-old nodded and began crawling backwards down the hall, wanting to pull his eyes away and keep them on the stranger at the same time. He wanted to huddle in a ball and die…he wanted to run and scream and live. Before Sammy's room vanished from his sight, the figure returned to the crib in the blink of an eye. _

_Dean shuddered and sprang to his feet, racing through the hall and jumping into his bed. The book fell from the blankets and onto the floor with a loud thump, making him hiss and shiver. With his flashlight held close to his chest, he kept his eyes tight shut, not wanting to open them and see the eyes again, shivering in the dark air before him. They were there still, though, imprinted like a photograph on his eyelids. He'd never get away, never. _

_He should go tell Mom. She could do something! Hadn't she always said that nothing in the dark could hurt him, as long as she was there? She was always around and nothing had ever hurt him so it must be true. Going to mom would mean passing Sam's room, though…_

_'Not a word to anyone…ever.' Dean shuddered, rubbing his arm. It still burned. His Mom's scream broke the silence, so all consuming, so blood curdling that Dean's busy mind drew blank. He lay in fear an confusion under the blankets until the smell of smoke and his father's yells drove him out…_

_'Not a word to anyone…ever.' _

_SUPERNATURAL_

Dean woke abruptly to the sound of Sam mumbling something in his sleep. Not that he minded. Even his brother's constant nightmares were welcome tonight. He could still smell the smoke, the burning flesh…feel Sam in his arms as he raced down the stairs away from the heat… 'Not a word to anyone…ever.'

Dean shivered and rolled over, watching the shadows passing headlights created on the wall over Sam's bed. It was just a dream, nothing more. No such thing had happened that night. He'd woke to the sound of his father screaming and gone to investigate. There was nothing in the dark, no eyes glistening in the night…

The moon shaped mirror beside the bathroom caught the light of another vehicle, flashing its cold white beam into his eyes briefly. Bloody Mary had seen his inner guilt because he would always blame himself for his mother's death. It was his fault, if only he'd told her what he saw. But it was only a dream.

"Dean…" Sam muttered into the dark. The younger man was tossing and turning in bed fretfully but it didn't seem to be a nightmare yet.

Pulling the heavy pastel blanket off him, Dean padded across the cold room, glancing at the thermostat on the wall above the tv as he went. Every night since he was four, he'd turned the heat down in the house and even now, in cheap motel rooms all over the country. It was unconscious and he never thought why, just assuming that somewhere deep within him he was trying to escape the heat of the fire. He was no Dr. Phil though. It wasn't his place to fathom this mysterious habit.

The bathroom floor gave birth to Goosebumps on his arms and legs but he paid them no mind. Cupping freezing water in his hands, he splashed it on his face and neck, shivering as beads of water raced each other down the ridges and scars on his back, soaking the top band of his jeans. Contended, he went back into the main room and opened his laptop, which Sam had left on the table by the window. It was time for a new case.

Being in Lawrence had shook him thoroughly. Seeing his mom materialize from flame in the middle of the kitchen had dug up long forgotten dreams and painful memories. He didn't want to feel that ache anymore. It was terrible and consuming. Unintentionally, he glared at Sam in the dark. His mother had said she was sorry, to him. He'd had to stand there and listen to her apologies to his little brother when it was Dean who had suffered the most. She'd said one word to him…one.

Trying to shake envy from his mind, he turned back to the computer. It wasn't Sam's fault, but he was so damn easy to blame. He began pulling up local papers, glancing once at the Lawrence news before tossing it aside. He wasn't going back there ever again if he could help it…especially with Missouri there.

His hunch was now pointing him to a small town nearby, just outside of Ulysses. "Axlyn." Dean muttered, eyebrows knitting in slight annoyance. This place was a hick town if he'd ever seen one. The paper announced it loud and clear. Mrs. Stewart and her husband, Richard, had gone for Sunday lunch at their son's house in Wichita. John Patterson was in the hospital and the paper asked for everyone to pray for his health and quick return. New people moved into the old Sanderson lot and Clarissa Rivers welcomed a son, Braden, into the world last Wednesday. The only news that really popped out was a small article printed in the corner of the last page, stuck between a few advertisements from nearby towns.

**Axlyn Kansas – It is official. Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center has shut down for good. Three months ago, the Center was responsible for the deaths of eight people, who were killed in their sleep due to suffocation. Large amounts of sand were found in their throats and eyes, official cause was stated to be due to the strange amount of sand and dust storms in the area lately. Police were unavailable for comment…**

Dean clicked out of the article and Googled the Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center. Articles flashed at him all over the place and he read snippets of each one.

'**The Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center had played a valuable role in new sleep techniques.'**

**'Offering help to people with severe sleep disorders…'**

**'Grand opening.'**

**'Awards'**

**'Research'**

**'Mysterious deaths claim eight lives.'**

**'Closure'**

**'Town in turmoil.'**

From what Dean gathered, Calvin Oaks had opened three years ago, been shut down three months ago and sentenced to be demolished in three weeks. The town it was based it, Axlyn, had now lost its last and best business, rendering it a ghost town. People had moved, died or disappeared and the population was dwindling. Dean almost felt sorry for the place. Their largest warehouse had burned down four years before the Center was opened. In the past decade, Axlyn had become a ghost town of less then sixty people.

Dean opened up the first article and read the end of it out loud. "**Researchers report the patients became scared to sleep and some died with looks of fear on their faces. Why were they being scared to death?**" The article was written by a woman named Wynn Dodge.

Pulling up a people search program on his computer, Dean found this journalist's address in Axlyn. Winifred Dodge, 53 Gladstone Street. He'd have to think of a new identity, which would be a snap.

Sam suddenly sat up, staring into the dark ahead of him. Dean could clearly see the blank look in his brother's brown eyes and knew instantly that Sam was very much asleep still.

"Sam?" Dean called softly. Sam didn't move but his eyes blinked rapidly in the harsh light cast by the computer. "Sam, wake up."

"Sam?" Sam whispered his lips moving slowly, forming every movement of the word with exact precision, as though he were in a slow motion movie. His head turned right, then left, his gaze settling on nothing. Then he looked up, squinting against some invisible light. Dean tensed, expecting Sam to start screaming for Jessica but he didn't. He simply laid back down and was soon snoring peacefully.

Dean shook his head. Sam had always been a strange sleeper. He seemed to perpetually have nightmares or premonitions. Dean often wondered why these things seemed to happen to Sam. The stranger standing over him in the dark, mom dying in his room, stuck to his ceiling…Jess eaten by fire…It was all to much. To strange.

Having found his new case, there was nothing more to do then check his emails. It spoke of spam ads and nothing more. No friends wrote him because he didn't have any worth talking to. That was just the kind of person Dean was. He could be a best friend while someone was around but the moment he moved, or they left, he could forget them and move on. It had always been that way. Growing up, friends were hard to make. Either they thought he was the odd new kid who drew demons in math class, or he was only there a week before moving on. Ties were bad. They clouded your judgment and got you killed…lately he wished he could turn off family like that too.

John Winchester still hadn't answered any of his emails. Again, like everyday, he began writing where they were, what was happening and the info on their next case. It was all a mixture of Latin, French, Spanish and old military codes that jumbled together and would give even the most professional code breaker a headache for weeks. Dean liked it that way.

After he sent the message, praying for a response, Dean opened another email window and began a second email to his father, letting his emotions and thoughts control his fingers. _"Dad, we've been waiting for you, calling you and leaving you messages. Where the hell are you? We worry to you know! When we were little we had to call in every three hours. Hell, two years ago I had to call in every five hours! What happened to that? The whole 'leave no man behind' bullshit. Dad, I need you here. Sam and I are in over our heads, we can't do this alone! Hell, what if we find the thing that killed mom? Where are you gonna be? When one of us dies doing this, are you gonna come to the funeral or are you gonna be off god knows where? Dad. I need you to come back. You know where we are. Please. I…" _

Dean stopped, cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as the anger and pain died inside him. Highlighting the message, he deleted it and typed in two little words. _"I'm fine." _It was all he could do. He couldn't let his dad think he was breaking down now. He couldn't break down.

Dean reopened the Axlyn information and re-read it. As he did so, random words jumped out at him, seeming to spring from the computer, screaming, 'Not…a…word…to…anyone…ever.'

In the cold room he shivered.

**TBC...**

**Review! Please!**


	2. Chapter 2

Hey Everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews! This is still dedicated to Liv, who read it over and gave me adivce!

I don't own Supernatural or it's characters. I only own Wynn and her brother...though, I asked for Jensen for Christmas...

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter two**

"Okay. So Axlyn is kinda small, hey? Only about sixty people beside a lake…" Sam scrolled down the information Dean had retrieved the night before. Dean glanced over at his brother, who was biting his lip, brow furrowed in concentration, no doubt trying to picture Axlyn in his mind. "Becoming a ghost town. Last year alone there were 571 people. That's a major drop."

"Their largest business closed down three years ago." Dean said, stuffing his clothes haphazardly into the blue duffle bag on his bed. "There was a large fire in the basement, a few people died or were injured." He lowered his voice conspiratoreously, for added effect. "Maybe some pissed off spirit, looking for a little revenge?"

Sam shrugged and leaned closer to the computer. "Possible. I'd look at the ones who died first. But if it was a spirit, the fire would have destroyed the bones, hey? Maybe it was someone who died of his injuries?" Sam looked up, watching Dean pull a dirty shirt from his bag and slip it over his head, struggling with getting his arms through the armholes. The long sleeves had been pulled inside the body of the shirt, with him. Sam tried not to laugh and continued. "The bones wouldn't have been destroyed…do you need help?"

Dean growled and pulled the shirt off. With the offending, and oddly enough, difficult object held at eye level, he turned it around in his hands, glaring. Sam laughed.

"Dean, the arms are…" Dean silenced him with a look and began pulling the arms out the proper way. Then he began putting the shirt back on, speaking in a muffled voice as the fabric obscured his mouth.

"Shut up, Sammy." Finally getting the shirt on, Dean straightened it, zipped up his duffle bag and threw it onto Sam's bed. The bag bounced off, scattering a few of Sam's neatly folded shirts into a mess on the puke green carpet.

"Oh thanks!" Sam muttered, getting up and gathering his stuff up again. By the way he was going on, Dean would have sworn it had been hours of work unraveled instead of just minutes. Smiling evilly, he took Sam's place beside the computer and sipped his coffee innocently. The brew tasted like onions for some strange reason. Dean decided he really didn't want to fathom this mystery. Sometimes it was better not to know what was in what you were drinking, especially if it came from a dingy, roadside motel, known for its cheapness, not cleanliness.

"We're headed to Wynn Dodge's house." Dean announced, "She's been covering the case. She seems to be the one most willing to talk." Dean began to close down his computer but a flashing message caught his eye. He had an unread email.

"Wynn might also be a tall blond, single and attractive." Sam muttered, giving his distracted sibling and icy glare. "What about that Andrea? You probably don't remember her. She had a kid and you two still seemed to get along great. She dissed you with the whole pick-up line comeback." Sam chuckled at the memory…and the look on Dean's face when she'd said it. He wished he'd had a digital camera at that moment. Sam would have and made copies to show Dean every chance he got. Unfortunately, Dean couldn't see the evil grin that had spread across Sam's face. He was staring at the computer, mouth open. "Dean?" Sam groaned. "Don't tell me you're looking at porn or something. If I have to see Paris Hilton in night vision again, I'll…"

"Metallica?" Dean whispered. Sam sighed and leaned over Dean's shoulder. It was an email from someone called Reaaper665. Sam nodded and raised an eyebrow. The message was one word, METALLICA.

"Metallica?" Sam asked, confused. "Who sent you that?"

"Dad." Dean answered. He clicked reply and began typing in a message to Reaaper665. Sam sighed and sat down on the bed, watching his brother with a mixture of pity and confusion. Dean had to believe their dad was still helping them, even if Sam knew he wasn't.

"That's not dad's email address, Dean." Sam answered, trying to wash the pitying tone from his voice. "Dad's email is jwinches…" Dean cut him off.

"Sam. He could easily have made a new one…faked a name, address and everything. Please, we run credit card scams and carry fake ID. Do you think faking an email address is hard?" Sam stared over Dean's shoulder, not wanting to meet his brother's glances.

"I had a weird dream last night." He said, trying to change the topic. Any more discussion about dad might make him want to punch something. Dean smiled, his fingers halting on the key board. He cocked an eyebrow and pulled his face into serious mode.

"I wasn't wearing a dress and eating cocktails while being chased by an evil crab, was I?" Sam snorted, shaking his head. Dean nodded, turning back to his message. "Go on then."

"I'm curious about this whole crab thing now." Sam answered, wanting to get down to the bottom of this new mystery. Dean gave him a strange look and continued typing. "No, seriously, Dean. What's with the dress?"

"Shut up." Dean snapped back. "Just tell me the damn dream already." Sam laughed.

"Okay. I was in my room…at the university." Sam stopped, his voice catching. With a quick swallow, he cleared his throat and continued. "But…when I looked up, there was empty blue sky above me and rushing wind." Dean sent his message and leaned back in his chair, still staring at the laptop but his face was set in concentration. He was hanging on to Sam's every word. "I was in a plane…and…I felt alone and scared. It was so strange because I'd abandoned myself."

"Like a whole, Strawberry Blond Max conundrum?" Dean muttered, obviously more to himself then Sam. Sam had no idea what he was talking about and stayed silent, waiting for Dean to continue. When he didn't, Sam cleared his throat again.

"What? Strawberry…"

"It was in a book I read about some psycho serial killer who had like…twelve different personalities and he killed strawberry blonds for kicks." Dean answered. "It was a good book." Sam raised his eyebrows. It seemed everything in Dean's life revolved around entertainment. Dean's brow furrowed and he made a weird gurgling in his throat for a second. "It was just a dream."

Sam shrugged. He wasn't sure it was possible for him to have 'just' dreams. Dean closed the laptop and busied himself with its carrying case, his face still grim. Sam had begun to get worried about him, since they had left Lawrence. He was quieter then usual and seemed on the verge of going over the edge. It was scary for Sam, seeing his older brother struggling. He'd been the one constant in Sam's life. He'd need to talk to him soon, about what happened at their old house…with their mom.

SUPERNATURAL

The morning was almost over before they hit the road. Dean had decided last minute that he needed a shower, leaving Sam to load the car and check out. Once on the road, Dean turned up the tunes and tapped on the steering wheel in time with ACDC, leaving Sam with his thoughts. He needed to talk to his brother, and the trip to Axlyn would be the perfect time in his opinion. This way, Dean couldn't get away.

Reaching over, Sam shut off the music and greeted the constant, loud thrum of the car's engine with grateful enthusiasm. After all these years, he still hadn't developed a taste for ACDC…or any of Dean's music.

"Hey! I was listening to that!" Dean whined, glaring at Sam. "Where the hell are your manners, huh? Turn that back on! You don't shut off a guy's music in _his_ car!" Sam rolled his eyes and covered the tape player as Dean's slender hand strayed toward it.

"We need to talk." Sam said sternly. Dean's face scrunched up in disgust and he groaned melodramatically. He knew when Sam said, 'we need to talk' the younger Winchester would not be diverted. The only saving grace would be a car accident to break the misery…if he were driving another car.

"No, Sam. We don't need to talk. Anything words can fix, ACDC can fix better." Again, Dean tried to turn the music back on and again Sam blocked him. "Don't make me turn this car around!"

"Dean." Sam said, his voice low and pleading. Dean groaned again and slammed his head back into the headrest. He wanted to die right now. "You admit something needs to be fixed?"

"No!" Dean answered, his voice a little snappier then he had intended. "I just don't really want to talk; I want to listen to…"

"You can listen to me then." Dean sighed and made another childish face but remained quiet. "Are you okay? I mean…with mom and everything the other day I just thought…" Sam took a breath and looked away, watching the scenery flash past the window. "I…um…"

He glanced back at his brother who was determinedly keeping his hazel eyes on the road. There was no trace of emotion on his face. It was just a solid, blank mass of nothing that was oddly chilling and comforting. It was a face he knew so well.

"I was thinking that you were upset that she didn't stay very long?" Sam ended pathetically. He didn't know how to voice the issue he wanted to address without causing a rift between them. The shape shifter had voiced Dean's inner thoughts and one of the main ones had been how lucky Sam was. Sam thought maybe because their mom had said she was sorry to him, and not Dean, maybe Dean would get the notion into his head that she had loved Sam more.

Dean swallowed hard and shook his head. Sam wasn't sure what that was supposed to answer but took it as a good sign all the same. "Okay. I was just wondering." He looked away, mentally kicking himself for his tactlessness. Very good, Samuel! That's the way to step around it. But curiosity was now weighing in on him.

"What was mom like?" He asked, realizing he really didn't know much about her. Dad hadn't been the most forth coming on the subject, preferring to focus on the future and his defeat of her killer. He wasn't really one to dwell on Mary's life, just her death. Dean had taken over their mother's role, looking after Sam and his dad…giving up his childhood in one night.

Dean shrugged and smiled suddenly, his eyes lighting up. It was such a startling change from the closed, masked Dean that had sat in the driver's seat a mere second before.

"She was an awesome mom." He answered, a small laugh escaping his lips. "She used to tell the stupidest jokes. I'd laugh to make her happy. When she smiled, she lit up a room. I'd do the wildest things to make her smile." Sam grinned. He'd heard all this before. He wanted something new.

"Did she ever give you any…advice, or anything?" He asked, propping a hand on the car door and leaning his head against it. Dean shook his head.

"If she did, I don't remember. It was probably 'don't lick cold metal' and 'yellow snow doesn't go in your mouth' type stuff." His face relaxed and he tilted his head to the side slightly. "I remember when I was three, at Christmas…just barely remember," Dean sniffed rubbed at his nose for a brief second. "We were unpacking ornaments and I dropped one of mom's favorite glass angels." Sam's mouth twitched. Dad had kept those glass angels. One year, while dad was out doing God knows what, Dean and Sam had found them and put them on the fig tree that was serving as their Christmas tree that year. Dean hadn't said they were moms. "She was so sad but she refused to cry about it. She didn't want me to feel bad…"

Dean paused, accelerating to pass a green Mazda before the Semi coming in the opposite direction closed in to much of the gap. When they were around, he continued. "That night, I taped it up and put it on the tree. The next morning she found it. Dad said she wasn't crying because she was sad about the ornament. She was happy that I had tried to fix it. She was like that. It wasn't what you did; it was what you tried to do."

Sam smiled and glanced at the road. "You're not gonna cry on me, are you?" He teased. Dean blinked and glared at him.

"Shut up diapers! Without me you'd still be in nappies, you know." Dean answered, smirking. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You potty trained me?" Dean nodded, grimacing as though he didn't want to think about it. "Yeah, right. You probably just stopped changing me and I got sick of being dirty and taught myself, you slacker." Dean snorted and glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Well, Sam, I had to do something. You were seven for heaven sakes." Sam laughed and was about to retort when Dean pointed to the glove compartment. "All this talk about potty training's got me hungry. Pass the jerky in there."

"You're sick." Sam pulled out the beef jerky and tossed it into his brother's lap. "And I wasn't seven."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean answered. Without another word, he turned ACDC back on.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

Hey! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! Thank you. I hope you like this chapter and keep reviewing!

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Three**

As the sunset, throwing the sky into hues of red and deep purple, Sam and Dean pulled into a gas station just within Axlyn. The ride had been uneventful, Dean had continued listening to music, shooting suspicious looks at Sam if he even moved a finger in the general direction of the tape player. Although he had managed to divert that particular 'Young and the Restless, stare into space and cry' type moment, he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. Sam seemed determined to talk about everything they had been through. It was just a matter of time.

The bright lights of the gas station lit up the interior of the car enough for Sam to find the adress to Wynn's house. Dean had written it on a dirty McDonalds napkin and left it on the floor at Sam's feet. 53 Gladstone Street. Looking up, he scanned the main street ahead of them, noting that more then one lamp was dying or flickering in the fading light.

Dean was leaning on the steering wheel, watching the man behind the counter. He was burly, with a major five o'clock shadow and a dirty grey wife beater, pulled taught over sagging flesh. "That guy doesn't look like a happy camper." He muttered, making Sam look through the gas station window as well. The man was reading what looked like Play Boy, with a large Big Gulp half drank beside him. The man hadn't made any move to get up and pump their gas. "So much for 'full service'." Dean muttered. Unhooking his seat belt, he smiled at Sam as he swung his door open. "I have to take a piss. You get to pump the gas."

"Joy." Sam muttered, folding the napkin. Sighing, he pulled himself out of the car, watching Dean through the window as he pocketed a bag of penuts on the way to the bath room. Sam shook his head and pulled open the cover of the Impala's gas tank. The town was so quiet. Hardly any traffic noise, the occasional howel of some lonely dog…He would swear it was the perfect place to live.

Afew momentes later, he looked up to see Dean, inside, leaning on the counter, paying for two cokes while gabbing with the cashier. The man wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. When he was done with the gas, Sam went into the station and caught the end of Dean's jibberish. "…best issue ever. Of course, the articles aren't all that bad either." He caught Sam's eye and grinned.

Stores lined the main street, blank windows catching the light of the Impala and making the ghostly shelves and manicans inside come alive. Dean couldn't help but point out in a 'captain obvious' sort of way, that almost all of mainstreet was on sale. Many buildings had For Sale written in glaring white letters on their doors.

"Well," Dean said, turning down a side street at the end of main. "This place is pretty small. Can't be too hard to find Wynn's house." Dean turned out to be wrong. After thirty minutes, four wrong turns, two dead ends and a few near misses with a few cats and a very mangy looking dog, the pulled up beside 53 Gladstone Street. Sam gave his brother a look which plainly said, 'not to hard?'. "Shut up, Sam." Sam smiled.

"I didn't say anything." Dean shook his head and pulled out his box of fake IDs and badges. "What are we going in as now?" For an answer, Dean passed same a glossy ID. "Doctors?"

"Ya. Here investigating the mysterious deaths. Can't hurt. Anyway, not just doctors. Doctor's with the W.H.O." Dean was obviously impressed with himself but Sam was skeptical.

"Dean, she's a journalist. Do you think…" Dean ignored him and got out of the car. Sam moaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Could they for once have an easy job? He remembered the bliss of living at the university, no Dean to complicate things.

The Dodge house was a large, two story with white panelling and blue shutters. Impressive at one time, it, like evrything else in Axlyn seemed to slowly be falling apart. That wasn't what seemed to have caught Dean's eye however. Sam sat up and watched Dean inching up the driveway, his hands held out toward a gleaming white 1967 Impala. Sam jumped out of the car as Dean ran his hand up the car's side, giggling breathlessly like a kid who had just been giving his first kiss.

"I'd love to own them both." He said over his shoulder, peering through the driver side window. "It would be like a split personaity complex with the same great taste!" Dean laughed and stepped back from the second Impala, eyeing it from different angles. Sam rolled his eyes. "They're ferternal twins."

Sam grabbed Dean's jacket and began dragging him toward the front door, the older Winchester walking backwards as he stared at the white Impala.

A young man answered the door at their second knock. He had obviously just been in the shower, black hair pulled out of his eyes still dripping onto his shoulders and curling around his ears. His grey eyes gave Sam a once over and then he smiled at Dean.

"Yes? Can I help you?" His voice was light and friendly. Without giving Sam a second glance, he stared at Dean who was still glancing over his shoulder at his car's 'ferternal twin'. The man leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. Sam jabbed Dean in the ribs. "Can I help you…" Dean pulled the ID from his pocket and held it up for the man to read. "Dean?"

"Doctor Dean Winchester. This is my friend, Sam Winchester…no relation. We're here with the World Health Organization, regaurding the strange deaths at the Sleep Research Center. There was an article written…"

"Oh! You're looking for my sister, Wynn." The man said, stepping out of the doorway and motioning them with an extravigant sweep of his arm to enter. "She'll be right down. I'm Devon." Dean nodded his thanks and stepping into the house. Behind him, Sam saw Devon's eyes sweep the back of Dean's body as he moved past. Sam tried not to laugh as he followed. It seemed Devon had taken a certain liking to Dean.

"Whose car's out front?" Dean asked, following Devon into the living room and nodding thankfully as Devon offered them to take seats on the couch. Sitting side by side, Dean looked around the pictures on the walls of smiling people on beaches, in front of the home and in a field with horses. He didn't notice the looks Devon was passing his way.

"Mine." Dean looked away from the pictures and smiled at Devon, feeling an instant connection with him. Sam wanted to laugh gleefully. Dean hadn't noticed the looks Devon was giving him. "I noticed you have my baby's twin, huh?"

"Yeah. V-8 454."

"Old school carberator with duel exhaust. They are fun to drive, aren't they?" Dean nodded smiling. The two launched into a deep discussion about their cars, trying to find small details in the natural, 'mine's bigger then yours' ritual. Sam sat back and listened as the two raved about Impalas and compared them to cars they'd owned before. It was dull subject in his opinion.

"What do we have here?" Came a female voice from behind them. The Winchesters turned to see a young woman behind them. Her long black hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, small whisps of hair escaping their place, jutting out around the left side of her pretty face. She was taller then both of them and dressed in black and ocean blue. Dean was instantly on his feet to shake her hand and Sam saw his clear disapointment at the wedding ring on her finger.

"Dean Winchester." He announced, stepping back so Sam could shake Wynn's hand. "I'm a doctor from Conneticut, working with the W.H.O." Wynn dropped Sam's hand and turned to Dean, her grey eyes alight with curiosity. It was stunning, how much she looked like her brother. "This is my collegue, Sam. He's a nurse." Sam glared at Dean but remained quiet, playing along. He'd find some way to pay him back for the nurse comment.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Wynn Dodge." She glanced over their shoulders at Devon and then motioned them from the room.

As a parting, Devon called out, "See you later, Dean! It was nice talking to you!" Dean waved over his shoulder, making Sam shake his head. Sometimes Dean was so dumb.

"You're here in regaurds to the Reasearch Center deaths." Wynn said over her shoulder. It wasn't a question. "I have everything you'll need."

They'd come to the end of a long hallway. There was a kitchen on one side and a plain brown door on the other. Without another word, Wynn opened the door and flicked on the light.

Newspaper clippings lined the walls beside obituaries, photos of the Center and coroner photographs. It reminded Sam strongly of their father's motel room when they were researching the lady in white. From the look on Dean's face, he was thinking the same thing.

"Everything I know is on these walls." Wynn said, waving a hand around her. There was a strange, haunting beauty about it. Suddenly, Wynn turned and glared at them. She seemed odly suspicious. "Why is the W.H.O interested in this case? I mean, we've already had the National Health Society out here."

Dean raised his eyebrows and went to the wall, staring at the photographs of the Center. He was calculating, counting windows and doors, visually checking and double checking visual escapes. "This is our kinda problem." He smiled at her over his shoulder. "We're very thoughout ma'am."

"What do you know?" Sam asked, checking the coroner pictures. The pictures were placed to form a circle, each deceased person had three photographs except the man in the middle, who had six. Beside them, written right onto the red wall paper, were medical terms and in brackets, a sleeping disorder.

"Calvin Oaks reasearched sleeping disorders mainly." Wynn said, leaning on the door frame. "They were really good at what they did…climbed to the top of their medical field…" She paused and her eyes lingered on a framed picture on the desk. Sam noticed it, sitting between jumbles of books and loose papers. It was the man in the middle of the victim circle…the one with six pictures. "My husband, Keith. He had Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome. He was in the Center for seven days before the deaths. He was found last." Her voice broke and she looked down, playing with the wedding ring on her finger. Sam felt sympathy wash over him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He answered, turning away to give her privacy until she composed herself. It was a few moments before Wynn started speaking again.

"It was weird. They all had been having nightmares and a few complained that they were too afraid to sleep. When they were found, they had identical looks of fear on their faces…mingled with sand in their eyes and mouths. Autopsy reports are over there."

Dean moved to the desk and picked up the autospsy folder. He scanned the pages inside before handing it to Sam. There was sand in the victim's lungs and nasal cavities, so thick they choked to death.

"Have you had any unusal weather activity?" Dean asked, sitting on the desk and accidently knocking a few papers on the ground. Sam sighed and picked them up, giving his brother a reproachful look. Dean really had to be more careful, he seemed to be continually knocking things over today.

Wynn shook her head. "We've had some dust storms but nothing big enough to suffocate them. The sand was only found in their lungs…not on the floor." She grimaced in frustration and clenched her hands to her sides. "It just dosnt make sense."

"Were they in the same room?" Sam asked. Wynn shook her head.

"They were in the same hallway." Sam glanced at Dean who was staring at the floor. Finally, the eldest Winchester gave Wynn his most charming smile.

"You mind if we get copies of all this?" Wynn gave him a scathing look and walked toward him. Tapping his leg to make him move, she pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a red scrap book, nearly bursting with newspaper clippings and photographs. She handed it to Sam.

"My extras. Bring it back." She smiled at Dean. "I'm a journalist. I always have copies."

"So what happens if we lose the copies and your house burns down?" Dean asked, watching Sam weigh the large book in his hands. Wynn smiled mischeviously.

"I have copies of the copies in my brother's car." Dean laughed and began leaving but stopped in the doorway, turning back to Wynn.

"What if…" He began, but Sam pushed him out into the hall. Once they were safely back in the car, Dean staring at the gleaming white Impala in the driveway, Sam spoke his mind.

"This looks like it won't be easy." Dean snorted, took another long look at the other car and pulled away from the house. He'd noted one small, run down motel at the end of main street and was headed there.

"Looks of fear on their faces…died in their sleep. Kinda like a Freddy Kruger thing going on." He waved his fingers around in the dark between them to exagerate his point. "I wonder if this place has an Elm Street…wait, every place has an Elm Street." He droped his hand and sighed. "Mind Walker maybe."

Sam frowned. "Never seen one this strong. Usually they stay in a person's mind for a while. Not kill them. You know, take their thoughts," Sam gave Dean a look, both remembering vividly the shape shifter who took over Dean's looks and memories. That creature had unlocked Dean's long vaulted thoughts and feelings on being glued to their father while Sam got to go to colledge. "transmitting images to them in the form of bad dreams and night terrors."

"Yeah. They can travel from person to person." Dean muttered. He pulled into the motel's parking lot and shut off the Impala. "We'll sleep on it." He grinned, making Sam roll his eyes.

SUPERNATURAL

Devon found his sister a few hours later, sitting in her 'obsession room'. Standing in the doorway, he watched her type in a name on the people search.

"What are you doing?" He asked, announcing his presence. Wynn waved a hand, as though trying to swat away an annoying fly and didn't answer. Devon moved closer, glancing at the coroner's picture of Keith. Why did Wynn torutre herself like this?

"I'm finding everything I can on Sam and Dean Winchester. Something just isn't right."

Devon raised a thin black eyebrow and pulled a chair closer to his sister. She was pulling up police records. "The doctors?"

"They aren't doctors." Wynn said, leaning closer to her computer. On the screen was a black and white photo of Dean Winchester, holding up a number plaque. Beside that were finger prints, a birth certificate and various other little facts. Dean Winchester had a date of birth some twenty-six years previously and a date of death beside that. Apparently, he had died in St. Louis a few months before, shot to death and was suspected of murder. Devon whistled.

"He's definitally not dead and he doesn't have a twin. That's Dean Winchester." Wynn began writing down his information on a piece of paper. "How did he fake his death? There are coronor reports and everything. He also has a rap sheet a mile high." When she was done, she went to Sam's profile. There was no photo, just some vital statistics and a card of fingerprints from when he was younger…a runaway case years back. "His brother's clean as a whistle. Their father's not, though. They seem to have dropped off the radar twenty years ago, when they lived in Lawrence." Wynn snorted. "Conneticut. I wondered."

"So, they're brothers…criminals…and not doctors?" Devon asked, his voice slightly pitched. Wynn shook her head and glanced over at her brother as he smiled. "Well, doctor or not, that Dean is really sexy." Wynn sighed. Something told her that Dean Winchester was not on the market for men. She said nothing to her brother.

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait! I hope this chapter is worth your patience…I think it's a bit rushed but you can all tell me what you think!

P.S. I don't own Supernatural and I won't ever claim to…though I really wish.

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Four**

The next morning dawned cold and bright. The soft patter of rain against the motel's roof woke Sam from his usual fitful dream. Again and again, he dreamt of sitting in an airplane seat, staring up at the open sky rushing above him. A feeling of loneliness tightened in his chest and he felt like sobbing. He couldn't abandon himself, though…could he?

Sam rolled onto his back and stared at the water spotted motel room's roof. A few tiles were chipping and threatening to fall in upon the unknowing, sleeping occupants. A few others were home to spiders that spun large webs in the cracks and peered down at him with eight eyes.

Dean was still asleep, his eyes fluttering as he was thrown into the throes of some fitful dream. Sam watched him, curious. Dean was such a hard ass when he was awake; it was always weird watching him be silent and vulnerable, even for a while.

Sam sighed and climbed out of bed, shivering as the cold air hit his sleepy bare skin. Light rain misted the large bay window, flecking the cold grey light of dawn onto the table and over the laptop and the scrap book they'd taken from Wynn the previous night. Both he and Dean had been too tired the night before to even dream of looking through its pages. Indeed, while Sam had been brushing his teeth, Dean had flopped down on the bed and fallen asleep with his biker boots still on.

Turning up the thermostat, Sam closed the bathroom door, locked it, and stared into the mirror. They'd been on the road for a few months now, with no luck. They hadn't found their dad, they were getting strange messages and, to top it all off, Sam was dreaming of things that he shouldn't be dreaming of. It was all so screwed up.

The cold shower woke him up completely. The motel where they were staying lacked hot water but Sam didn't mind. He loved the feel of the cold shivers running up and down his spine, as though in punishment for what he had done to Jessica. It was fitting that his outer body feel as cold as his soul.

So lost in his own thoughts, Sam didn't realize he'd been standing in the shower for a full hour. Toweling himself dry, he got dressed and stepped out into the main room, to find Dean wide awake, sitting at the table with the lap top open, sipping cheap motel coffee. The older Winchester smiled at Sam and handed him his own steaming, paper cup.

"Hey," Dean said, turning back to the computer. "I'd thought you drowned. I was gonna call the navy to come in after you."

"How long have you been up?" Sam asked, pulling a chair up beside him and sipping the coffee. He made a face. "Ewe, I might just barf later."

"Yeah, that's how you know its quality cheap hotel coffee." Dean raised his steaming cup in mock solute and smiled. "I talked to the hotel proprietor…he was even less forthcoming then porno boy at the gas station. Should we get working on this whole choking to death on sand thing?"

"Yeah, probably." Sam muttered, opening the book. He stared at the pages blankly for a moment, not focusing on the news articles in front of him.

"Well, there have been more sand storms then normal…maybe some geologist with psychic powers is taking revenge on these people?"

"A psychic geologist?" Sam asked, giving Dean a disbelieving look. "No, somehow I don't think so." Dean made a noise in his throat and began looking thoroughly at the coroner's report.

"Well, then the only thing we can do is take a look at the Center." Dean announced. Sam nodded. He couldn't wait.

SUPERNATURAL

Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center was a large, stone, one story building with a few Oak trees out front. The light shower that had started that morning was now a full force thunderstorm, something Dean pointed out was fitting, considering that was the bases for all creepy movies…an old abandoned building in the rain and lightning. What could stimulate them more?

"Probably naked Pam Anderson." Sam muttered as Dean turned off the Impala. His brother grinned and wiggled his eyebrows, giving Sam a 'now you're getting it' look.

"As long as I get to save her from the Boogyman, I don't care." He answered. The door was padlocked. Shivering in the rain, Sam watched the empty road up and down, while Dean picked the lock. "This is too easy."

Calvin Oaks looked as plain on the inside as it was on the outside, probably to lull its patients into boredom; the better to put them to sleep. There were no decorations on the walls, or even shadowy imprints that any had been there and then been taken down when the Center closed. The walls were washed white and cream, the floor tiles the same hue. Dean rubbed his eyes and leaned against the interior doorway, leaving Sam to shut the door.

"Man, if I could die of boredom anywhere it would be here. Where's Martha Stewart when you need her?" Sam flashed Dean a curious smile and pulled out the EMF meter. It was dull and lifeless.

"Come on, let's poke around." Sam whispered. Directly in front of them was a sort of welcome desk, cut into the wall semi-circular with a roomy office behind it. Dean held out the EMF meter and leaned on the counter, reaching his hand as far into the office as he could so his legs were sticking out in the air awkwardly. His face red from the strain, he pulled back off the counter and shook his head.

There were two shadowy hallways, one going East and the other North. Pulling out a piece of paper he'd jotted down the important notes on, Sam pointed to the East hallway.

"If we go that way and turn left, and then right, we'll come to the right place." He announced, his voice low and intense. He could feel that they would find something big here. Both unnerved and excited, he followed Dean down the hall.

There were rooms everywhere. Some were small and had the homey lived in feeling, despite the fact that they were deserted. Others were large and open, sometimes with counters or cabinets inside.

Turning left, they walked with echoing footsteps down the hall, passing a few glass cabinets and an art room.

The corridor they came to had a plaque at the entrance way, bolted down to the swinging blue door…the most colorful thing in the whole building. Dean shone his flashlight onto the words, Restful Retreat.

"Yeah…rest in peace." He muttered, pushing the door wide. There were ten doors down this hallway, two closed, eight open. Dean walked slowly ahead of Sam, waving the EMF meter left and right with each step. There wasn't a crackle or even a slight jump in the meter. It was all still…until they reached the ninth door, which was closed.

The buzzing began to rise slowly. Dean stopped, staring at the closed door. "Who was in this room?" He asked, throwing a glance at Sam. The younger Winchester pulled the paper out of his pocket and found a room number 19 at the bottom.

"Not one of the sand victims." He answered, looking up. There was something very strange going on. "Wynn's notes didn't say who was in here." Dean sighed, braced himself, and opened the door.

Rain pattered onto the floor, through the open window at the other end. Soaked white drapes hung in soiled ruin on either side, framing the water spattered glass. A bed in the corner had been pushed onto its side, exposing its belly to the rest of the room. They hadn't even removed the mattress or the two chairs beside it. Opposite the bed, against the wall to their right was a dresser adorned with rose prints and brass knobs. A closet sat cold and lifelessly open, a few hangers on the rail.

The meter began buzzing wildly as Dean stepped inside. All around the two brothers, there was nothing but a high pitched wail. Sam cringed. "We know there's energy in here. Turn it off!" Dean pressed the button on the side and the buzzing silenced. He grinned.

"Sweet. This is its source. We'll just have to find out who had this room." Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother's words and crossed the room, prodding the upended bed.

Dean moved to the dresser and began pulling open the drawers. They were empty, as Sam had expected. Who ever had been in this room had long since abandoned it. When he was done searching the dresser, Dean began checking out the closet. Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the bed.

No scorch marks on the bottom of the mattress, nor on the frame. Nothing had lived beneath, that was for certain. Crouching down, he moved his slender hand along the bed's legs, checking for scratches or unusual dents. Again, nothing. As he examined the underside he felt a slight tickle at the back of his brain, which wrapped around to his eyes. It was so sudden, yet so intense, he staggered slightly.

"We should perform an exorcism." He said quietly. Dean didn't answer. He'd crossed to the window and extended his hand out into the rain. "Dean?" Sam watched him place a soaked hand over his eyes, rubbing the lids and his cheeks with cool liquid. "Dean?"

"No." He answered finally, looking up. "We don't know what it is yet; an exorcism might not work…especially if it gets into your dreams. We'll need to figure something else out. I mean, it might…" The rest of his sentence was drowned out in a yawn. "I'm getting really tired." Again he yawned and fell back against the wall as though he had run a mile.

Sam swore and raced across the room, catching Dean as he began sliding down the wall. "We have to get out of here, come on." Sam grabbed Dean's arm and tried to pull him to his feet but the older brother pushed him away, still bound and determined to do everything on his own. "Come on Dean, hurry."

Blinking sleep from his eyes, Dean managed to get up. "I'm moving." His brother answered thickly. With what seemed like great effort, Dean staggered across the room and out into the hall with Sam hot on his heels.

Sam ran behind, pushing and prodding Dean until the older brother began to slow, sleep making him trip and waver. Without listening to his brother's protests, Sam yanked Dean's arm over his shoulder and pulled him close, taking all of his brother's weight. By the time they had reached the door leading outside, Dean was asleep, Sam's arm's wrapped under his shoulders, dragging him out of the building.

The rain was cool and comforting on Sam's burning face. The effort of dragging his brother out of Calvin Oaks had robbed him of almost all his strength. Dropping his sleeping brother under a large oak, he leaned against the tree and stared back at the building behind him. He'd felt its presence rub past him when he stood near the bed. He should have said something!

Falling to his knees, he shook Dean's shoulder roughly. He stayed asleep, not making a sound or any motion that he knew his brother was there. Panicking, Sam lifted his upper body into his arms and began dragging him again, across the concrete and to the Impala. It was a struggle getting Dean to stand just enough to open the door and even more of a struggle getting him into the front seat. Twice, Sam dropped him, both resulting in a sickening crack as Dean's head bounced off the pavement. Knowing he'd get his own bruises when Dean found out that he was mistreating his unconscious body, he sat Dean down in the seat and tilted it back so he was lying down.

Rushing to the trunk and shaking his wet hair from his face, Sam rummaged through the back for anything that might help. There was a first aid kit which he ripped out of the trunk and threw onto the driver's seat. Going back to the trunk, he pulled out a few blankets and spread them over Dean's soaked body. The last thing he found in the trunk that might help was an amulet from Peru, used to ward away bad dreams.

Back in the car, Sam closed the door, blocking out the pounding rain and leaned over Dean. His breathing was deep and even, face calm. Sam lifted one of his eyelids and found a hazel orb staring back blankly. There was no sand in his eyes or his mouth which made Sam's heart unclench.

Opening the medical kit, Sam began rifling through it, looking for anything that could help. There were some smelling salts but that didn't have any effect. The only thing left to try was adrenaline.

Sam pulled out the long syringe and pulled the cap off the needle. Pulling open Dean's jacket, he gently pulled down the soaking fabric of his shirt. His chest rose and fell gently, keeping the same rhythm. Sam sighed, trying to pull himself together and pressed the needle into Dean's skin.

He'd pressed the needle only part way in to Dean's chest when he pulled it out again and re-capped it. He'd never liked giving Dean needles when they were younger and stabbing him in the heart was sickening. Throwing it back into the first aid kit, he pulled the blanket back up over his brother and drove away from the Center.

The motel was cold and dark as he parked outside of it. The rain misted windows and peeling paint, coupled with the lopsided sign gave Sam a slight pause. It was as if the whole town was thrown into a kind of perpetual slumber. Everything was dismal and dark and sleepy.

"God, Dean." Sam muttered, leaning his head against the steering wheel. "What the hell have we got ourselves into?" Turning his head, while keeping his forehead pressed to the wheel, he watched his brother's pale face in the dreary light. "You're very helpful."

Crawling out of the car, Sam jogged through the rain into the shelter of the dilapidated overhang over the sidewalk. Shivering, he pulled the motel keys from his pocket and tried to fit them into the lock. Coupled with cold and nerves, Sam's hands trembled so violently it was hard to get the door open. After a few moments and a large amount of deep breaths, he managed to swing the door open and step into the dry, dark refuge of their room.

Throwing off his heavy, soaked coat, Sam ventured back into the rain and pulled open the Impala's passenger door. The loud squeak didn't even faze his brother, whose head lolled lazily on his shoulder. The belt buckled decided it had a problem co-operating as well. Cursing his brother, the car, the Center and the town, Sam slung his brother over his shoulder and brought him into the safety of the motel room, dropping him ungracefully and gratefully onto his bed.

Panting, Sam shut the room door and leaned against it, staring at Dean who was flopped on his side, one soaking arm hanging over the edge of the bed and dripping into a small lake on the carpet. "God, you're heavy."

Getting his brother down to his boxers, Sam cover him with the motel blanket and turned the heat down in the room a little bit, just like Dean liked it when he slept. With the Peruvian pendant around his neck, Dean could have just laid down for a nap.

After changing out of his own damp clothes, Sam began searching through internet databases for the person who stayed in room 19. If he could piece that together, maybe he could figure out what had a hold of his brother right now.

Checking Dean every hour for sand in his eyes or mouth, Sam began gathering facts, piecing things together and hoping he wouldn't be too late.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everyone, hope it wasn't too long of a wait. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's kind of short but I promis I will make it up to you all with the next one!

P.S: I don't own Supernatural...duh. Now I'm just waiting for 'faith' which will be on in one hour and thirty minutes!

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Five**

Night had fallen and Sam's eyes were burning. He'd been so busy studying the Center; he hadn't bothered to turn on the room's lights. Now he sat, bathed in the glow of the laptop's screen, going through page after page of facts, names and dates.

Dean still hadn't woken, and a few hours ago had begun to toss and turn, moaning into his pillow and whispering in Latin. Not knowing what to do, Sam just continued checking him over. It wouldn't do good to sit at his bedside and hover, receiving a good tongue lashing if ever Dean were to find out. Dean hated being fawned over unless it was by an attractive woman.

Flicking through a few new records he'd managed to hack into, Sam pulled up more names and dates, checking and re-checking information on Calvin Oaks. Five men had stayed in that room since the center had opened, all suffering from different disorders. The only connection between them was the high alert state of their cases. All the men in Restful Retreat had extreme cases of their disorders.

The first patient in the room had been a Gerald Massing. He had been successfully treated and went home after only three weeks. After him had come Perry O'Cridon and Don Laung, both of whom had been moved to a more intense center in New York state. John Westlock had gone home, cured after a few months and then Phil Stiller had taken up residence.

Sam found Phil the most likely candidate to look up next. He had Narcolepsy but died seven days before the deaths occurred. He'd been in Calvin Oaks for a week before a heart attack took his life in the middle of the night. He also suffered from Hypnagogic Hallucinations. Sam pulled up a medical journal online and skimmed though the information. It was all technical mumbo-jumbo but he was able to piece it all together. "They are vivid dream-like experiences that happen while dozing, falling asleep or waking." The man and his family had lived in Witchita which was lucky. It meant they would only have to drive a few hours to talk to his family. Sam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his burning eyes. In the dark, Dean shifted, his pained whispers growing louder.

"Dean?" Sam called. Dean didn't wake but continued shifting in the dark. Leaning out of the glowing light created by the laptop, Sam could just see his brother in the dark. Dean's hand gripped the pillow under his head with a bone crushing force, face turned toward Sam. Though he couldn't see the look on his brother's face, Sam could picture it in his mind…pained…scared…frustrated.

"Mmmm." Dean's head snapped left, making the bones in his neck crack. Wincing, Sam turned back to the computer, trying to ignore the rising tempo of Dean's voice. "Ma…urgh…Mauwmmm." Sam frowned, brows knotted together in concentration. It almost sounded like Dean was dreaming of their mother. Leaning back again, he stared at his brother whose face was again turned toward him but shifting in small shakes and nods on the pillow. "Maa, ple…noo…mmmm."

Sam was intrigued but pulled himself out of his speculation. He had to concentrate. Dean's life may very well depend on what he found out tonight.

The other men who died were Alec Remeny, Stephen Halix, John Rosco, Max Harper, Timothy Weiz, Kevin Jenkins, Richard Olson and, of course, Keith Dodge. They came from all over the country, each with different disorders. Sam frowned and panned down, reading their profiles with mild interest. They each began complaining of nightmares the night Phil Stiller died. It was almost like the terrors he had while sleeping affected the others…like he cursed them with his last breath or something. Sam began making notes, squinting in the dim light.

When he was done, Sam slid from his chair and crossed the dark room toward Dean's bed. Crouching down beside his brother, Sam reached out tentatively and placed a hand gently on Dean's shoulder. The older Winchester didn't wake but continued muttering to the dark, Sam's palm slickening with his brother's sweat. Clearing his throat, Sam ventured to speak. "Dean?"

Dean hissed under his breath and his head flopped left on his pillow. Sam took a deep breath and pulled himself up off the floor. "Dean?" Still, Dean failed to wake. Carefully, Sam perched himself on the inch of bed between his brother and the floor, leaning closer. "Phil? Are you there?"

Now that his sight had adjusted, Sam could just make out his brother's facial features in the dark. His face was scrunched, brow furrowed. Sam closed his eyes, adjusting his breathing, trying to calm himself down. "Phil? Can you hear me?"

"Sam." That was clear. The word wasn't mumbled, garbled or slurred. Surprised, Sam pulled his hand off his brother's sweat soaked shoulder; afraid Dean would take the act the wrong way and make some joke off it. "Sam."

"I'm right here. Are you awake?" Silence followed his question. "Dean?" Silence. "Dean? Answer me." Dean's movements were slower now; his head rolled left again, his fist unclenching from the pillow. It was then Sam realized Dean wasn't awake yet.

"Damn it." Sam muttered. Leaning over his brother again, he ran a hand under his eyelids and across his lips, feeling for sand and finding none. He was now convinced it was Phil Stiller's spirit haunting Dean's dream. It must be his spirits way of continuing on after death…but then why had it killed the other patients? Another question begging an answer was how it had lingered so long, free in the center…and why had it picked Dean? Sam was the psychic.

Suddenly, Dean's body flew at him out of the dark, a pained, terrified scream ripping from his throat. Sam scrambled off the bed, Dean's right leg catching him in the hip and sending him sprawling on the floor. Flipping over onto his back, Sam felt relief wash over him, over riding the self embarrassment at his ungraceful fall.

Dean had pulled a knife from under the pillow…how Sam hadn't found it before was shocking in itself. The older Winchester was staring into the dark, stock still but for the flicking of his eyes as he searched the room around him.

"Dean?" Sam whispered from the floor. He saw his brother tense, his head falling until he caught sight of his brother on the ground. Dean's hand fell, the knife hitting the bed with a muffled thump between the blankets.

"Sam?" Dean gasped, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Sam shook his head, slowly pulling himself off the floor. Seeing his little brother was okay, Dean bent down and touching his forehead to his knees leaving Sam free to slowly reached out and grab the knife from between two folds of the comforter, sliding it across the floor and as far away from the bed as he could. "What happened to me?"

"I don't know." Sam answered truthfully, sitting down on the end of the bed. "We were in the Center, and you all of the sudden you fell asleep." Dean's head lifted slowly and he stared at Sam in the dark. "What did you dream?"

"Nothing…well, I kinda dreamed of that clown from the movie IT." Dean answered. Although he said it so matter of factly, Sam found himself rightly skeptical. Through the hours of mumbling and garbled whispers, he'd thought he'd heard Latin warding spells against demons. Even more then that, Sam had been sure he'd heard 'Dad' and had definitely heard 'Mom' and 'Sam'. He didn't press the matter, though, deciding to let it drop for now. If he tried to hard, Dean who further distance himself and that's the last thing Sam wanted.

"Okay." Sam whispered. He glanced at his watch and hit the lighted dial. It was past midnight and he still hadn't gotten any sleep. Dean seemed to see the tiredness in his brother's face.

"Go hit the hay. I'll look over everything you got so far." Sam hesitated, the thoughts of sleep trying to pull him toward the bed but he was still worried about his brother. The man had passed out hours ago, had fitful sleep and now wanted to stay up the rest of the night looking up the old Sleep Center. "Go, I've slept all day. I think I can handle this." Sam sighed, defeated.

"Okay." Sam answered. Slowly, he pulled himself off his brother's bed and grabbed the knife, setting it down on the table beside the computer. "You really have to get a sheath for this thing. It's dangerous." Dean rolled his eyes and laid back down, staring up at the roof with his hand on his chest. Sam could almost hear his brother's heart pounding in the dark.

As Sam began stripping off his shirt, Dean's voice came out of the darkness at him. "Why does my head hurt?" Sam's face flushed as he remembered repeatedly dropping his brother while loading him into the car.

"I don't know." He answered, climbing into bed. As his eyes began to close and sleep threatened to pull him under, Sam saw Dean pull himself out of bed and prop his elbow on the table, rubbing at his eyes.

SUPERNATURAL

Dean waited until he was sure Sam was asleep before going into the bathroom. He was pale and had a red tinge to his eyelids. He'd lied to Sam, again. He always seemed to be lying to him. If only he were telling the truth about that demented clown!

After washing his face in cold water, he went back out to the main room and checked his email again. Reaaper665 still hadn't answered him back, not that Dean was surprised.

The sun slowly rose and Dean continued his brother's research. A yawn around 7:30 announced Sam waking. "Hey, you found anything?" He asked groggily, rolling out of bed and stretching his lanky limbs. There were a few loud cracks as his joints shifted, making Dean wince slightly.

"Nothing really." Sam nodded and stared at Dean, the silence thickening until the older Winchester couldn't stand it anymore. "Sam. Don't look at me like that anymore."

Sam seemed to realize what he was doing and looked away, scratching the back of his head. He was burning to ask what Dean had dreamed. It was inevitable. Dean had raised Sammy from a baby to the adult that stood before him. He knew every damn look.

"Dean…" Oh god, here it came.

"Nothing." Dean answered quickly. Sam's head snapped around and he stared at his brother in the dim light. "I didn't dream about anything and if I did, I don't remember."

"That's how it started." Sam continued, plowing on. "Dean, I listened to you all night! Latin protection spells, 'mom'?" Dean turned his gaze back to the computer. This wasn't the time or the place in his opinion. The only time he would ever want to talk about this would be on his death bed and even then he was unsure. "Seven days before they died, all of them began to have nightmares. And Phil Stiller! He had Narcolepsy! He'd fall asleep instantly, just like you did yesterday. Dean, what are you…"

Dean slammed his hand down on the table, silencing Sam for good. The younger Winchester took a frightened step back, hitting the bed with his legs. He managed to stay on his feet but only by a fraction.

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. He was feeling tired and drained. He wanted to sleep but feared having that dream again…it was too much.

"Okay." Sam said quietly, moving around the bed and pulling his duffle bag off the ground on the other side. Dean watched him rummage around inside for a few moments, guilt spilling over to clench at his heart. He wanted to say he was sorry but such things had never come easy for him. Instead, he kept his mouth shut. Sam pulled out a shirt and began speaking as he pulled it over his head, "We're going to Wichita, talk to Phil's wife, see if we can get any information on him."

Dean yawned and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak and, by the frosty silence that now permeated the room, Sam didn't trust himself either.

**TBC...**


	6. Chapter 6

Hey Everyone! I hope you like this chapter! Thanks for the reviews, they inspire me to keep writing.

I don't own Supernatural, unfortunitally! Thanks to Liv for looking up Modafinil for me, it was better then what I had originally.

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Six**

Sam parked the Impala on the street in front of Phil Stiller's house. Dean had insisted on driving but half way to Wichita they began weaving in their lane, fatigue making Dean's eyes drift shut. When they'd pulled over for gas at a small gas station, Sam had leapt into the driver's seat before Dean could stop him.

Now they stood outside Phil's plain, one story flat, with its overgrown lawn and randomly gardening equiptment. Sam let his eyes wander along the flowers as they made their way up the sidewalk. Roses and daisies lay dead and wilting, leaning on each other for support. Dean, so lost in glaring at Sam as they passed a dusty Oldsmobile, tripped over one of the basketballs lying abandoned on the ground. Cursing, he knocked on the door.

They were greeted by a middle aged woman, her dark brown hair sporting streaks of grey and red. The bad dye job was fading, leaving the ends of her curling hair a reddish tinge. The bags under her eyes announced she had gotten less sleep then Dean, the lines speaking about trauma and sadness. She crossed her arms over her thin chest and leaned against the doorframe, instantly on guard against the two young men standing on her porch, one looking angry, tired…death warmed over. The other was also angry but seemed less inclined to fall asleep at her feet.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" She asked, her once melodic voice horse and scratchy. "I don't want to buy anything and I'm atheist…so no Christian flyers. I will never be reformed."

Dean grinned, "Atheist? That makes two of us." He glanced over her shoulder at a young man who had entered the room cautiously, his ball cap pulled low over shaggy hair and a scowling face. It reminded Dean of Sam when they were younger. Always ready to rebel against their father. "No, we're here to see your husband, Phil?" The woman tensed. "It's just…we were in Calvin Oaks with him. We got along great and we wanted to see what he was up to."

"He's dead." She answered bluntly. Dean and Sam gave each other theatrical looks of astonishment and sadness. They were playing on sympathy points and praying this worked. "He died of a heart attack."

"Oh." Sam said, his voice dripping in perfectly measured sympathy and pain. "We're sorry…when?"

"Three months ago." The woman answered, tears welling in her eyes. She gave them an appraising sweep with her eyes and then stepped out of the doorway, motioning them to enter. With grateful nods, the two boys stepped over the threshold and into the cold shadow of the living room.

The furniture was so outdated; Dean instantly was transported back to his grandmother Winchester's living room in Dallas. Everything was square in shape, reminding him of the box blocks he'd played with as a kid only…less colorful.

The television was just a box with dials and bunny ears. Though probably a decoration, Dean suddenly felt sorry for the kid standing in the doorway. No wonder he was rebelling. No T.V, no scary movies or illegal porn? A kid would go nuts in a day. The stereo beside the large bay window was basically a cabinet with a speaker covered in cloth. Dean followed the woman further into the heart of hell, past a plain brown and cream patterned couch (the kind you don't mind spilling beer on), over a red and green throw rug and past a small side table with a record player. As Sam and Dean made themselves home on the couch, the coo-coo clock on the wall chimed.

"It looks like the 1950's threw up." Dean muttered in Sam's ear, earning a half amused, half reprieving look from his brother. Sighing, Dean tilted his head back and caught sight of the chandelier above him, decked out in green tassels and cloth work.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Mrs. Stiller asked. Dean shook his head, Sam nodded. Always and forever they would be completely opposite. The woman smiled, the first true smile either of them had seen since they'd met her, and motioned to the young man behind them. He seemed to be about fourteen and so unhappy it was amazing he was still alive. "Robby, go get…um…" She motioned toward the younger of the two strangers before her.

"Sam." Sam supplied, smiling at Robby. "Whatever you have, water preferably. Please." Robby scowled, stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved out to the kitchen. When he'd disappeared around the corner, Mrs. Stiller turned back to them.

"So, what'd you want to talk to my husband about?" She asked, her hands twisting in her lap. Dean's eyes began to wander as Sam explained the story they had concocted in the car. Mostly it was Sam's story, about how they had played cards with Phil in the Center and were wondering how his sleeping disorder was coming. Sam explained that they had heard the Center was shutting down and wanted to find out what Phil was up to now that it was closing.

As Sam talked, Dean's eyes lingered on a few framed photos on a side cabinet. They were of Phil and his wife. She looked so different in them, more vibrant and happy. Sighing, he turned back to her as she began to talk.

"Phil had bad Narcolepsy and Hypnagogic Hallucinations. We didn't know what to do so we sent him to Calvin Oaks. The next thing I know…" Her voice broke for a second as Robby returned, a large glass brimming with crystal clear water clenched and threatening to over flow in his hand. Sam thanked him but the boy didn't seem to listen, he just left, closing the front door rather harder then was necessary behind him. Mrs. Stiller watched the door for a moment before regaining her composure.

"Um…the next thing I know, they phoned me to tell me Philip had a heart attack in the middle of the night and passed away." She grimaced, pushing the threatening tears away. Reaching out, she took a framed photo off the table beside her and handed it to Dean.

It was a picture of Phil in uniform standing next to an ambulance. Mrs. Stiller smiled and pointed at the picture. "He was a paramedic for twelve years. I bet he never told you." Sam shook his head and took the picture from Dean. "He retired after the accident. A little boy was shot. He and one of his friends had been playing with a gun. It had been locked in a cabinet and they found the key. The little boy was shot in the head. Phil and his partner were first on the scene. On the way to the hospital a drunk driver ran a light and hit the side of the ambulance…the bus flipped and Phil hit his head. He was in a coma for a few weeks and when he woke up, the disorder started."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. "And the kid?" Dean asked, handing the picture back. Mrs. Stiller shrugged her shoulders, staring at the photograph.

"He died. They wouldn't have been able to save him anyway. He was the same age as Robby…Philip always blamed himself for it but there was nothing he could do. We tried every center but nothing worked. Calvin Oaks was supposed to be the best so we…" She shook her head and blinked, again trying to dispel the tears.

SUPERNATURAL

Sam pulled the Impala into an empty parking space outside of Burger King, intending on having a late lunch before hitting the road back to Axlynn. Dean stared absentmindedly out the window, watching nothing in particular.

"What do you think?" Sam asked. Dean didn't move, didn't even blink. "Dean?" His head shifted slightly, meaning he could hear what Sam was saying, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it. "Maybe Phil's guilt manifested itself into a spirit of some kind? Maybe he was creating the nightmares. Maybe he's haunting you now."

"Possession? Please, Sam." Dean answered, his head falling to the side. He looked almost defeated. "_Cristo_. I didn't flinch."

"I don't know how we'd classify inner demons." Sam's eyes wandered around their surroundings, catching on a blond haired woman talking on the phone beside her car. She looked almost identical to Jess. It was all he could do to keep from running towards her and kissing her. Talk about inner demons… "Dean…Phil began having nightmares because he felt guilty about what happened to that kid."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he visibly bit his cheek. It was an old defense mechanism, so mild and miniscule; you had to know him to see it. "What are you saying, Sam? That I feel guilty about something?"

"Do you?" Sam asked. "If this is about mom or dad…" Dean laughed harshly and rolled his eyes, giving his brother the Winchester glare. It usually stopped anyone from continuing but Sam needed to talk about this and he knew Dean did too. "Dean! Dad leaving wasn't your fault. Mom's death wasn't your fault either."

"Shut up Sam, you know nothing about Mom's death or Dad! Don't you preach!" Dean answered, his voice fallen to a deadly whisper. Sam tensed, watching the anger smoldering under Dean's skin.

"Dean! You're the one that said blaming myself for Jess's death would kill me! You told me to let it go, that it wasn't my fault. You mentioned me calling her name in the middle of the night! God, man! Could you be any more of a hypocrite?"

"Oh, now you're worried about me?" Dean snapped, turning fully in his seat to glare at Sam. "You sanctimonious son a bitch! You go off to college, get an education and think that you can tell me about life? God Sam, look around you! Life doesn't come with a text book! And you know nothing about mom! You don't even remember her! You weasel around for stories because you think that way you can get to know her! And Dad!" Dean laughed harshly. "Screw dad! You don't care about Dad."

"Dean. What are you dreaming?" Dean shook his head, mouth clamped so tightly shut not even the Jaws of Life would get them apart. Sam slammed his hand on the wheel in frustration. "Damn your pride, Dean! We have six days left! I need to know what you see when you sleep!"

"Come on Sam. You think a pussy little dream demon is going to kill me, in six days? God, maybe I'll get a phone call tonight…a little voice on the other end saying 'you're going to die in six days'. Or maybe I should have gotten the call yesterday? Until then, I'll hold off my suspicions!"

"Fine. If you're going to be a jerk, you sit here and starve. I'm going to get lunch and going back to Axlynn…with or without you." Sam pulled the keys out of the ignition and waved them around. "And if you want to wreck your car by hot wiring it, go ahead. I could care less."

Sam got out and slammed the door of the car shut, cursing. His brother was too much of an ass to admit that he needed help. Dreams were something that he couldn't escape. They attacked when he was most vulnerable. They didn't give a damn how big his gun was, how much rock salt he had or how much attitude he carried around with him.

Glancing at the Jess look-alike, he stepped into the air conditioned restaurant and started to the counter…no longer hungry.

Outside, Dean growled and let his head fall back against the headrest. That little prick! Dean had raised him and this was the thanks he got?

His eyes shifted to a drug store across the street. He needed something to keep him awake…pep pills of some kind. Short of going to a drug dealer, Dean pulled his box of tricks from the glove compartment and rummaged through the bottom for a doctor's prescription sheet. With the best messed up doctor writing he could muster, he signed himself a prescription for Modafinil. The pharmasist didn't even raise an eyebrow, he simply made Dean sign out a small form, pay for it and it was done. Thanking his dad for long ago setting up a 'medical alias' for his sons, it was the name he used when he was in the hospital (God forbid that happen offen) or needed a drug of some kind that he couldn't buy from Walmart.

Popping a pill outside, he glanced at the Burger King to see Sam had decided to eat his meal inside. Knowing he had time to kill, while defiantly ignoring his rumbling stomach, he stopped outside a small bookstore and hesitated. It couldn't hurt to have a poke around and maybe find a book on the mysterious dream man.

Dean entered the dusty book shop, looking around with mild curiosity. He only read when he was extremely bored, preferring instead to watch a scary movie. The slow, thorough thrills of a book, with plots and in depth characters could never compare to the cheap, fast thrills of a horror flick.

There was a pretty, sixteen year-old-girl working behind the counter, chewing quickly on a piece of gum. She smiled at Dean who smiled back politely. He wouldn't even give her a second glance until she was older…and by that time he'd be an old man in a wheel chair.

"Can I help you with anything, honey?" The girl asked, her voice fluttery and pitched. Dean rolled his eyes and started down the aisle directly ahead of him. It turned out to be a romance section.

"I'm looking for a dream book." Turning into the next aisle, he scanned some of the old music magazines. "You know, something that interprets dreams."

"Oh!" She called from the front. There was silence for a few minutes and suddenly she was behind him, looking around his shoulder at the magazine he was flipping through. "Well, we don't have any of those in stock I don't think, but I can tell you anything you want to know."

Dean set down the magazine and gave her a skeptical look. She didn't look like she knew much about anything. He was sure if he shined his flashlight through one ear, the light would come out the other. "You sure you don't have the book?"

The girl giggled and motioned he follow her. "You don't look like a dream book type man to me." Dean sighed and suddenly wished he had sent Sam instead. Sam was that kind of man.

The girl led him to the front of the shop and around another book case. Behind here was a large bay window, throwing a soft glow onto a few comfortable looking chairs and a table. There was a cupboard nearby and a coffee pot brewing on another table.

"Coffee? You look tired." She said, her voice muffled by the wad of gum in her mouth. She must be chewing the whole pack. "Well, sit down."

"I don't do the whole shrink thing." Dean answered, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing the chairs. This was a little more then he had bargained for…or that he was comfortable with. The girl sighed and gave him a cheery look over her shoulder.

"Don't worry; I'm not a registered psychologist. My dad is though." She poured two cups of coffee and motioned to the sugar cubes and milk tin. "Are you a sweet kind of guy…or plain black kind of guy?" Dean smiled slightly.

"Black." He took the coffee gratefully and sat down opposite the girl at the table. "So, you wanna be a psychologist when you get older?" The girl giggled and shrugged.

"Yeah, a dream psychologist. So you get to be my first patient." Dean took a bigger sip of coffee then he intended at that moment and coughed as the hot liquid burned his throat.

"Wow." He choked, grimacing. "I'm thrilled." Figuring the coffee was dangerous; he put it down on the table and watched it steam into the cool air around them.

"So? Tell me your dream." The girl said, placing her own coffee on the table and sitting back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, waiting. When Dean didn't talk, she raised her eyebrows and nodded her head encouragingly.

"Fine." Dean sighed, looking out the window. There were a few birds playing house on a nearby tree. Further along, an attractive red head was window shopping. "I, um…I'm dreaming lately that I'm in an airplane. I start out with a crowd but then all the people disappear and I'm alone." The girl's brow furrowed but she stayed silent. "Then the roof is gone, and the air is rushing at me and I think I'm going to fly out of the plane.

"I look back, and my brother has a parachute on. I try to stop him but he leaps out and leaves me. Then there's…" Dean stuttered to a halt. He knew what the next part meant. It was that thing in the dark the night his mother had died. The girl was looking at him encouragingly so he continued. "A dark figure that starts on fire. Then I wake up."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment and then smiled. "Well, that's easy! I thought you'd have a hard one for me." Dean raised his eyebrows. "Okay. You're in a plane so, either you are afraid of flying in real life…and or, you feel like you've been waiting your whole life to get somewhere and now you're almost there. You can feel it. The people around you, if you look closely at their faces, they'll be people you feel you've helped along the way. You'll recognize their faces."

Dean tried to see the faces of the people around him in the plane but he couldn't get them into his mind. "The roof of the plane coming off is your protection. The roof would be someone who you've felt safe with, kept you safe in return and now they are gone. It's time for you to fly by yourself…you feel like you're about to fly out of the plane because that's how you feel about your life right now. You feel like you're flying apart and everything is spinning out of control."

Dean continued watching the street outside. His dad, his one constant, his protection, was gone. It was now his turn to take over the family 'business' with out him. "You're brother leaving you is easy. You think he'll abandon you someday…someday soon. You think he'll turn on you." Dean swallowed hard. "The figure on fire though…"

The girl shook her head and took a deep gulp of coffee, tapping her slender fingers on the cup. It seemed she had long ago swallowed her gum. "Well…a burning secret perhaps? Something you've hidden for a long time." She gave him an appraising look and then smiled. "Was I on the money?" Dean smiled back and shook his head. Her smile fell.

"You were really close, though." He lied, getting to his feet. The girl jumped up too, still looking crestfallen. "It was very interesting, though. Thanks for the coffee." He was about to step out the door when she cleared her throat. Dean turned back to see her hand outstretched, palm up. "You didn't get it right, so no money."

"Hey, I tried. Even the best psychologist gets something wrong. Twenty-five." Dean glared at her and forked over the money. "Thank you, come again." As she moved back behind the counter, Dean's eyes fell on the shelf beside him. There, right before his eyes, was a book on dream interpretation for ten dollars. Kicking himself, he moved back out to the Impala finding Sam waiting for him inside.

Glaring at the bookshop, Dean dragged himself into the car, buckled up and let his eyes stray to cars and buildings beyond. She'd been right…about everything. Was his life so transparent that he was the only one who couldn't see right through?

The sunlight on his face suddenly felt cold and dark. These feelings were slowly being dulled by the medication he had just taken, a calm but alert tingle was washing through his body.

His father had put him on Modafinil when they were hunting a year ago. It felt kind of good to be on it again. Leaning back in his seat, he let his eyes wander to Sam whose jaw was clenched. Could Sam see through him to?

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

Hey everyone, sorry for the two week delay. LOL. This chapter took me in a completely different direction then I had anticipated. I was surprised by the ending and what I have written for the next chapter after this…so…

Anyway, my beta person hasn't read this yet, so excuse any spelling mistakes there may be and enjoy.

I don't own Supernatural, though I wish I did because I would have Dean without a shirt off as often as possible.

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Seven**

The long, twisting roads from Wichita to Axlynn seemed to stretch on forever before Sam's eyes, reminding him with cruel pleasure that it would be another long hour at least before they pulled into the parking lot of their motel. The anger in the car had evaporated, leaving behind an awkward silence.

Weird things had been passing through his mind for the past few hours as he'd sat rigid in the driver's seat, his hands clenched on the smooth steering wheel which vibrated in response to the car's gentle roar. First it had been images of what he'd do to Dean, if they weren't related. Then, the image of Dean dangling over a boiling pot of water, screaming for mercy had faded into him lying dead in Sam's arms with sand pouring out of his eyes and mouth. The thought sent shivers through the youngest Winchester and he pushed them aside as best he could, concentrating on the sheer power at his command.

The Impala, he decided, might need car therapy after not having Dean under her feral control for the past day. It had to be awkward for the black beast to be going the speed limit for once in its life. Dean was a bat out of hell behind the wheel, as their dad had been. The few times Sam had been allowed to drive, he'd never thought of how strange it must be for the car. How many times had one of the three Winchester's slept or bled in her backseat? How many fights had she listened to? How many tears did she hold…aches did she keep secret for them?

He often wished he could listen to her stories…'her' because that's what Dean and John had always quipped her. Sam used to wonder, but now, sitting in her driver seat, he realized the moody animal beneath him had to be a woman. It just made sense some how. Her beauty, her power…

As any woman, she was elegant, and a safe haven for her family. Dean used to disappear into the Impala for hours at a time after difficult hunts, when they were younger. Sometimes, Sam would peer through the curtains at the old car, sitting in the driveway, and watch his brother inside her, his face hidden by the night. Sam always wondered what Dean did in there, weather he talked to the car…or cried…

John had been different. He'd always shown his love of the old Impala by washing her frequently, and working under her hood. Sam smiled slightly at the memory of waking in the backseat and feeling the rumble beneath him. He'd turned over, staring out the back window as they drove gently up some abandoned highway, tall pines standing guard over them. The moon had been full, something that always made him nervous, but at that moment he'd felt safe. Dean had been sleeping to, his head resting against the window in the passenger seat, and John's soft voice, talking gently to the old car, a one-sided conversation. Sam couldn't remember what he'd said, but the car had always felt like the mother he'd never known…if that made any sense at all.

He showed his love through sheer respect. The car was old, therefore she shouldn't have to speed unless it was necessary, no matter how much the men inside her wanted to get away from each other.

Beside him, Dean sat relaxed but alert, occasionally throwing glances at Sam who was trying to block them out.

Speaking about history and safety. Dean and Sam had spent years in the confines of this car, sometimes laughing…mostly fighting. All the things they'd gone through…Sam's hand clenched on the steering wheel, trying to concentrate on the loud growl of the Impala. The barely audible sounds of the country music station couldn't even satisfy him today. Before he'd met Jess, he'd never heard the whining melodies of Tim McGraw but after being with her for so long, he'd grown used to it.

Maybe he should turn on some Metallica? He felt that he owed Dean something today…anything to break the frosty silence around them. _'Dean raised me.' _The thought penetrated the surface of his mind as it had so many times before. _'Dean always made me feel safe. I owe him more.'_

Suddenly, another voice in his head pushed this one aside bringing with it anger and resentment. _'He owes you more! All the things you've gone through? God, the guy is a complete and total jerk. You at least tried to do something with your life and he can't accept that.' _

Shame washed over him. _'He would accept it if I hadn't run. If I hadn't left him.' _ Sam stared at the car ahead of him, taking in the scratches on the trunk and the rust on its bumper. Behind the wheel, he could just see the outline of a woman through the dirt and filth, her head bobbing in time with the music that only she could hear.

'_Well, if you owe him so so so much…talk to him already and quit complaining about him!' _The snide voice answered. Sam pushed down on the accelerator and pulled out into the lane beside him, passing the rusty, dirty little car. Dean's head turned as they drew level and he smiled at the woman behind the wheel. Sam could barely offer any of his attention to her, only able to note the long black locks falling around her shoulders and the blood red lips turned up in an answering smile.

When they were around her, Sam opened his mouth to speak, to break the silence, to get in another fight…anything. Dean, in classic big brother fashion, beat him to it.

"Who do you think is the best fairy tale princess?" Dean asked, watching the old rusty car through the Impala's side window.

Sam was slightly confused but not altogether shocked. It has always been Dean's way. When he needed to break the silence, he'd come up with something stupid and pointless but Sam appreciated it all the same. Where Sam could come out and say he was sorry or ask if everything was alright, Dean needed to beat around the bush. He had a need to keep himself hidden and Sam could respect that. To show his brother he wanted to forgive and forget, he played along with this new childish display.

"Where did that come from?" Dean shrugged and pulled a Metallica tape from the glove compartment. Sam watched him flip through the inside jacket, even though he'd looked through it a million times.

"Just curious. I like Cinderella. Any chick who can go through life with a name like that, walk around on _glass_ heels, hold her head high while riding in a spray painted pumpkin," Sam frowned. Since when had the pumpkin been spray painted? "And bag a prince?" Dean smiled in respect and shook his head. "Oh man, _watch out_! That woman will take over the kingdom."

Sam grinned at his brother's enthusiasm and sighed, turning back to the road. They'd never been one for Disney movies as kids, so Sam had to really delve. "I donno. Cinderella's kinda weak. I mean, she could have just stood up to her evil step family and got her own life. She shouldn't have taken all that."

"You mean, she should have gone to college." Dean muttered. Sam was sure the slip had been subconscious, because the older Winchester hadn't even seemed to realize what he'd just said. It hurt none the less, and Sam felt his blood pressure rise. Deciding to let it slide for now, he continued.

"Hell, man. Cinderella relied on mice to make her dress. What chick in the medieval times couldn't sew a dress?"

"Sam, that makes her all the more powerful!" Dean answered in a very paternal voice, as though he were explaining something simple to a toddler. "She would have been very smart to train mice…I mean, whoa…and teaching them to hold needles and read patterns." He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I don't think you can beat that."

"Dean. The mice would have given her the plague. She would have been covered in black sores." Dean made a face, obviously envisioning it. "I always liked Sleeping Beauty."

Dean snorted. "That woman was immoral! I mean, she was unmarried and lived as a sex slave to six men."

"Seven." Sam corrected. "We're not even in the same fairy tale, are we? You're thinking of Snow White and she was no sex slave."

"Tell that to Bashful. Should have changed his name to 'Bernardo' or something." Sam rolled his eyes. "Typical woman, all she wanted were the diamonds…she was smart though. I mean, giving Dopey a sponge bath is well worth it if you get a whole bunch of rings and such." Dean grinned. "You like Sleeping Beauty because she was asleep and vulnerable! You could take advantage of her and she'd never know. Sam, you're sick!"

"You thought of it. That speaks volumes about you." Dean made a '_Ya, whatever_' face. "Anyway, in a Kung Fu flick, I could see Sleeping Beauty kicking Cinderella's ass."

"How?" Dean snorted. "She's going to snore her to death? No, Cinderella could break one of her shoes and use the shards to…" Dean stopped suddenly, eyes widening, With fumbling hands he pulled the Metallica tape from its case and shoved it into the tape player. Sam inwardly groaned. It had been a silent trip so far, he didn't think his frayed nerves could take Metallica right now, even if he had entertained the thought as a way to get Dean in a brighter mood.

"No, Dean! Driver picks! No Metallica!" Dean gave him a cold look that, had they been younger, would have shut Sam in a second. Fortunately, for Sam, he had long ago grown a backbone. They were no longer kids, so Dean's evil glare no longer turned him to stone. "What are…"

"Sam, shut up and listen!" He turned up the volume and the steady rhythm of a guitar began to play. Sam knew the song well, it was a famous Metallica song and Dean had listened to it so often, it played in Sam's nightmares as well.

After over a minute of music, the lyrics began, the growling voice of James Hetfield sang, "**_Say your prayers little one, don't forget, my son, to include everyone. Tuck you in, warm within keep you free from sin, till the sandman he comes."_**

Dean shut the music off, turning fully in his seat, eyes wide, back pressed against the door behind him. He was watching Sam for some sort of reaction, but Sam's mind was busy turning it all over, examining all the facts. Dean thought it was…but that was impossible…right? How…

Sam shook his head and took his eyes off the road, turning to look at his brother whose face was shinning with the excitement of fitting a new clue into the puzzle. He no longer looked tired in the least. It was as if the previous stress had washed away, along with all color in his face. Though he looked slightly ill, Sam had never seen him more alert and ready for combat.

"The email from Dad." Dean said, his voice rising. Sam turned away, his eyes catching the **'Welcome to Axlynn' **sign past a slight bend in the highway. Dean hadn't noticed, his eyes cast down as he stared at the tape jacket in his hands. "'METALLICA'! This is what it meant! God, Sammy, why didn't I see it before. The dreams, the sand…the deaths in their sleep! Damn, Sam, Enter Sandman…"

Sam shook his head, his face failing into a severe look of skepticism. "Dean," He said, his voice tense and pleading. The look of absolute excitement in his brother's face had unnerved him slightly, as well and the belief that they had found what was causing so much trouble. "From what I've heard, the Sandman is…" Sam searched for the right words as they passed a small, dilapidated store with a 'For Sale' sign hung crookedly in the door window. "He gives kids good dreams."

"Maybe it's like Jolly Ol' Saint Nick?" Dean answered, turning around in his seat so he was facing the right way again. "You have to be a good kid…or in this case, a man, in order to get a good dream. Face it bro, I'm no good guy." His hands made a scale motion, as though weighing the invisible possibilities on his hands, the Metallica case waving limply from his right. "Or I pissed in his corn flakes."

"I donno." Sam answered, biting his lip as he slowed the Impala down and pulled into the gas station. "I think its Phil Stiller. I mean, the guy died the night before the haunting started. He seems like the perfect catalyst and a heart attack is considered a violent death."

"Fifty bucks says it's the Sandman." Dean answered, his deep, razor voice announcing to the silence that the car had been turned off. Sam stared through the front window at the gas station attendant who was, again, pointedly ignoring them. This time reading Teen People, he munched on a large Oh Henry and flipped the pages with a chocolate smudged hand. Sam winced and turned to Dean who was watching him expectantly.

He knew he shouldn't fall into his brother's money trap, but this one he felt was safe enough. "Fine. You're on." Dean laughed and hit the door of the Impala with an open palm, obviously happy with his end of the deal. Sam shook his head and chose not to comment. "What card did you use last time?"

"It was a toss up of three." Dean said, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a box of fake ID's and badges. Sam watched with mild fascination, wondering how Dean ever kept it all straight. The very thought of all those names, numbers and dates made his head ache, and he barely heard Dean's next words. "There you go, Ben."

Sam took the credit card and stared at the name written in fading gold on the plastic. "You are the height of immaturity." He said blandly. Dean shrugged, shutting away the ID's.

"Yeah, well. Get me some peanuts while you're in there." His older brother leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, smiling. Sam felt his face flush and stared at the card for a long moment. He really didn't want to go in there with the name, 'Ben Dover.'

SUPERNATURAL

Night was growing old when Sam woke to the glow of the television. Staring at his watch and finding it impossible to see the numbers, and equally impossible to bring up his other arm to press the lighted dial, he simply rolled over and caught sight of Dean on the other bed.

Dean was staring at the television intently, a bottle of water in one hand, a pillow held close to his chest with the other. "What are you watching?" Sam groaned, letting his head fall back onto his pillow while keeping his head bent awkwardly to watch his sibling.

"I tried to keep it down." Dean answered over the sound of barking. Sam let his head roll to the side, into a more comfortable position and away from the flickering glow. "Now shut up, Old Yeller's about to bite it."

"You're watching Old Yeller?" Sam asked with a hint of amusement. He'd never understand Dean, no matter how long they were together. He was a mystery when they were younger, he was mystery now and he would be until the day he died. If there was ever to be a case study on strange, mental patients, Dean would qualify for experimentation.

"Well, it's no slasher flick but hey…it has a rabid dog in it…and that little kid…when he smiles it looks like he wants to eat your _face_." Sam rolled his eyes, realizing he would get no more sleep and not really wondering if he wanted to try. His dreams were becoming more intense. Every night he dreamed of the plane…being abandoned and now it coupled with a figure on fire. It was strange. If anyone was to dream of a plane, it was Dean.

Sam rolled onto his back and tucked his arms under his head, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. Maybe he was somehow channeling Dean's memories…and fears? At Stanford, he'd dreamed of Jess being pregnant for a few weeks before she told him she'd had a pregnancy scare. Now, after they had talked to Missouri, he was sure he was picking up on some unshed emotion of his brother's. This thought scared and thrilled him at the same time. The idea that he had a sneak preview into Dean's inner cinema was well worth the price…

"Dean, have you gotten any sleep?" Dean shook his head and pulled the pillow closer to his chest. The kid on screen was aiming his gun at the dog, crying as his finger hovered near the trigger. He kept stalling, which seemed to make Dean angry.

"Damn it! Just shoot that bitch already! Bingo's gonna bite you, dude. All it sees is you on a plate as a big juicy stake!" Suddenly, the rifle on the television went off and Dean cheered. "Finally!"

"You're sick." Sam muttered. With a few grunts and groans, he slowly, pulled himself off the bed and padded barefoot across the room to the laptop. "I'm gonna find out what I can on Phil Stiller's partner. See how his nights have been."

"Cold and lonely." Dean said, taking the remote and flipping through the channels. The motley audio created a gross, out of tune jabbering jingle of fruit drinks for Baywatch women on Animal Planet. "His name's Butch Wumann." Dean grinned. "With a name like that, I doubt he gets much action."

"How do you know that's his name?" Sam asked, pulling up Phil's file.

"Sam, you're not the only one who can research. While you were out like your hero Sleeping Beauty, I was watching TV and reading up on Butch…just to humor you." Surprise made Sam blink for a moment but he managed to pull himself out of it.

Touching his hand dramatically to his chest, he made a face. "Awe, Dean…that's touching. Thank you. You're gonna owe me fifty bucks."

"Don't count on it. You'll be eating your words." Sam shook his head and turned back to the laptop. For all their banter, he was worried. This thing, whatever it was, was dangerous and Dean was in trouble. He wouldn't admit it to Dean but he was terrified and secretly glad that his brother had managed to keep himself awake.

A knock on the door startled them both. Sam's hand flew away from the laptop's keyboard and sent a bottle of water plunging to its death. The cap broke off and crystal clear H2O soaked into the filthy carpet.

Death's pillow also hit the floor as the hunter jumped to his feet, pulling a gun swiftly from the band of his jeans. Nervously, they exchanged glances and Dean cleared his throat.

"Who is it?" He called in Spanish. There was a long pause, as though the person on the other side had expected something else as a way of a greeting. Dean repeated his question, a little slower this time, and inched forward. Sam took in the relaxed state of his body. His eyes roved over his brother's bare arms and baggy tee-shirt. Somehow, Dean was too calm about the situation.

Now Dean was beside his brother, his gun still raised, pointed slightly to the right of the door. This was the usual place people stood after they knocked. It was meant for a quick, clean shot, calculating the average height of a person and the incline of the uneven sidewalk on the other side.

"It's Wynn." The voice on the other side finally answered. She too was speaking in Spanish, her voice dripping with uncontained confusion. "Open up, please."

Dean stowed the gun hastily in his jeans and pulled his shirt over the offending object. With his hand on the door handle, he motioned Sam to close the laptop and then swung the door open.

Wynn smiled cautiously, her eyes sweeping the room behind Dean before looking at him. Her long black hair fell in loose waves across her shoulders. One hand was in her large coat pocket while the other held her cell phone open and at her side. Sam watched the phone curiously, wondering if she was recording their conversation or if there was anyone on the other end.

"Hi, come in." Dean said, motioning her with an extravagant wave of his arm. She pushed past him gently and smiled at Sam as the door clicked behind her. Sam sat down on the chair he had just vacated, conscious of all their bags laying near the dresser, and the very porn like movie Dean had been startled into stopping on. The soft moans from the TV were drowned out by Dean as he stepped into her way, blocking her view with a very innocent and dashing smile on his face.

"Dr. Winchester, I have a few questions for you." She held her cell phone up and waved it in front of Dean's face, her thumb hovering over the send button. Dean squinted through the dark and his eyes widened. Sam opened his mouth to ask but Wynn answered first. "911. Just in case."

"What are you…" Dean began but Wynn's hand eased out of her pocket and Sam tensed in his chair. Slowly, he stood, holding his hands up in the air as Wynn's eyes flickered to him in the dark, her hand shaking as it held the gun between Dean's eyes. "Okay, I think you're upset."

Sam's heart was beating so fast he thought it would stop. The constriction in his chest grew and he placed his hand on the table behind the laptop to steady his shaking legs. There was the large hunting knife he'd taken from his brother the night before. Through unexpected shock, he gripped the handle and pulled it slowly from the shadows of the table, behind his back. Gripping the worn leather handle tightly, he watched Wynn's finger hover above the trigger.

"I want to know who you are." Wynn said. Dean's hands, which were held out to his sides, fell and slapped his legs. With a dramatized groan, he smirked, rocking back on his feet, away from the gun. Sam knew a tactic when he saw one and prayed it work. Dean was going to put Wynn off guard and grab the gun.

"We're from the W.H.O…" Wynn shook her head. The motion made splashes of flickering light from the television harden her features and sparkle the thick perspiration on her forehead.

"Bullshit!" She snapped. "I checked your police files, Dean. I know you were wanted for murder in St. Louis, and I know you faked your own death." Now it was Dean's turn to be put off guard. Wynn's finger settled on the trigger and Sam whipped out his arm to throw the knife.

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, hey everyone! Thought I'd post this before the episode Shadows came on…in 30 minutes, so…anyway, thanks for the reviews, all of them, they mean so much to me! Anyway, I don't know how I feel about this chapter, there's a lot of action in it and it gets the story moving more…you'll have to tell me what you think. My beta didn't look at it…I miss you!

I don't own Supernatural, though I wish I owned Dean/Jensen…who ever. Anyway, to the chapter:

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Eight**

Wynn was lightening fast. With cat-like reflexes, she whipped around and aimed the gun directly at his heart. With the knife held out to his side, wrist turned in preparation for throw, Sam's weapon was in plain sight.

It seemed like the world had slowed. The television's sound muted, sitting silently active in the background. Shimmers of vibrant color glinted off the knife's broad blade, shaking in his sweaty fist. Light spilled over Wynn's gun, shuddering in her unsteady grasp.

Sam's eyes moved slowly from the gun, up Wynn's arm, across the curly black hair and onto her face. Perspiration beaded her forehead and raced down her cheeks to collect on her chin. It seemed like his senses had opened up. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears; feel the pulse behind his eyes. Off to Wynn's right, Dean stood rigid and Sam desperately tried to pry his eyes away from the angry woman before him. He wanted to look at his brother, see reassurance in his eyes…

It was the fateful, slow motion moments before action and Sam hated every torturous second of it.

Dean stood still, gauging the situation. Millions of thoughts were racing through his mind, all overshadowed by the towering protective mass of memory and emotion that was associated with Sam. Years of caring for his brother had wrought a protective pain inside of him. Every time Sam was hurt or in danger, that pain flared to a burning flame. The only way to extinguish the pain was to take out its cause…

Wynn was no longer beautiful…or single. She was an enemy, like any other he had faced. From the bullies on the playground, to Bloody Mary, she was dangerous, cunning and attacking his brother.

Lunging forward, he grabbed the woman around the waist, knocking her arm up with his shoulder. They slammed into the front door with such force the wood around the hinges splintered and the gun discharged.

The bullet tore into the tiles above Sam's head, showering him in a cascade of broken white fiberboard and jip rock. Falling to his knees, he covered his head with his arms, wincing at the battering his body took from something as simple as crappy motel ceiling debris.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was frantic, worried. The naked fear in his brother's voice startled Sam. Blinking away dust, ignoring the tickle of a sneeze in his nose, he watched the battle shift upon the floor.

Dean had maneuvered Wynn's right arm between his legs. Twisting away from her, he pulled her up and over his balled up body until she was pressed flat against the floor, her face crushed into the dirty carpet, arm held back in Dean's grip.

The two Winchesters were able to share a quick, appraising look before turning their attention back to Wynn. It was a look that said, in seconds, that both of them were okay.

Dean had her in a strong grip, one Sam knew very well. When they were little, Dean had used it on him many times, the older brother mastering it in little more then a week. It was one of his specialties…unfortunately, Wynn found a way out.

Ignoring the obvious pain in her shoulder and elbow, she managed to get her free arm under her and pushed up. Realizing Dean had no intention of breaking her arm, she continued pushing until she was able to twist sideways and break Dean's slackening grip. Flipping over before he could catch her again, she used both their momentums to slam her palm into his face.

Dean's head slammed backwards into the wall with such force it made a dent in the cheap wall paper. Blood began running across his lips from his nose. Sam sprang forward, gripping her hair in his fist and pulling her backwards. With a strangled scream, she hit the ground beside him, her arms flailing.

She was more flexible then he had first realized. As he struggled to keep her on her back, she hunched her shoulders forward, rolling backwards and slammed her knee into his neck.

Gasping for air, Sam's world spun into blackness for a second. He couldn't breathe, every gasp of air ripped at his throat like a razor. God, she'd got him good.

His vision returned just in time to see Dean's body fly over him and hear Wynn's frustrated scream. Rolling over, clutching his throat Sam blinked away the last remnants of darkness to watch Dean and Wynn throwing any punch and kick at each other they could manage.

Dean was no light weight but Wynn was holding her own fairly well. Sam watched the ball of tangled limbs rolling closer and closer to the large, oak dresser near the open bathroom door.

"Dean!" He tried to call out a warning but too late. The battling pair slammed into the dresser with such force that one of the drawers spilled open onto the floor. There was silence for a second and all Sam could do was stare. He couldn't see their faces because the shirts completely covered the upper half of both their bodies. All that was visible was Dean's ripped blue jeans and black socks, lying haphazardly over Wynn's legs, leaving only her runners exposed. Dean was lying on top of the woman, both unmoving.

Coughing, Sam tried to call out but his voice refused to work. Crawling forward, he reached out and grasped Dean's ankle, shaking it roughly. He was startled by a moan under the pile of clothes and Wynn's legs, kicking feebly.

The pile of clothes shifted and Wynn pulled herself out from under Sam's brother. Her black hair was a tangled mess of curls, her face bloody and bruised. Giving him an withering glance, she crawled across the floor, her eyes planted firmly on something under the bed. Letting his head fall, Sam felt his cheek touch the dirt encrusted carpet, eyes following Wynn's hand as she reached beneath the bed.

The gun and cell phone lay beneath the bed, just out of her reach. With his heart in his throat, Sam rolled sideway, hitting the underside of the bed frame with his shoulder. Reaching out desperately, he knocked her hand away and pulled both items toward him.

Struggling to his feet, he closed the cell phone, threw it onto one of the beds, and pointed the gun at Wynn, who now lay prostrate upon the ground, gasping for breath. She'd finally given up.

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice slightly croaky. Clearing his throat again, he called a second time and was rewarded by a muffled groan. Anger made his hand shake as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from the dirty pair of jeans Dean had left lying on the chair beside the table. Throwing them across the floor, he stood rigid near the door. "Put them on," He instructed. Wynn gave him a piercing look and then sighed, scooting over the bed and cuffing herself to the sturdy, rusted bedpost. When she was done and safely secured, Sam tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans and raced to his brother's side. "Dean?"

Two shirts and a pair of grey socks later had Dean's face completely uncovered. A large lump was forming on the side of his head and blood was still running across his lips and cheek from his nose. His face was pale, eyes closed.

"Dean, come on, stay awake." He couldn't let Dean fall asleep. Phil Stiller's spirit was waiting, and every step Dean took toward falling asleep brought him closer and closer to the spirit's clutches. Sam didn't think he could bear to watch his brother crying into the darkness again for a mother who wasn't here anymore.

Dean's eyes opened slowly, and he stared blearily at Sam. Gently, the youngest pulled his brother into his arms and held him close, shaking him every time Dean's eyes threatened to close.

"Hey, come on, stay awake." The chilly tingle Sam had felt before, in Calvin Oaks before Dean had fallen asleep, was back. He could feel the cold presence grip the back of his brain and wrack its spectral nails around the inside of his skull before pressing against the back of his eyes.

The moment the feeling lifted, Sam felt Dean's body stiffen in his arms. "Sa…" Dean's eyes closed and his body began shivering as he was thrown into another nightmare. Phil…the Sandman…had him again.

"Damn it!" Sam hissed, wiping sweat and jip rock dust off his forehead. Looking up, he glared at Wynn who was watching them closely, blood still trickling gently from the corner of her mouth. She had no damn idea what she'd just done. She couldn't possibly fathom the danger she'd just put Dean into…or maybe she didn't care…

"Now, what do you want to know?" Sam asked, his voice deadly calm and still scratchy from when she'd hit him in the throat with her knee.

"Who the hell are you?" She spat. Her composure was gone and she seemed to stare a hole into Dean's forehead. Sam shifted his position, bringing his knee up to block Wynn's view of his brother's face. He didn't know why, but the thought of her looking at Dean made his blood pressure rise.

"I'm Sam Winchester; this is my brother, Dean." Wynn opened her mouth in protest, but Sam gave her an icy glare that silenced her immediately. "Our dad went missing a few months ago. We're looking for him." If Wynn looked sorry for him, she didn't show it. She simply continued glaring as though it was all his fault. "You said Dean faked his own death…in St. Louis?"

"Yeah, I have access to police records. I know more about you then you even know about yourself…or maybe, just your brother. He died, March 7, 2006 in St. Louis." Sam's heart clenched. First off, she wasn't supposed to know that. Second, he really had wanted to forget that incident. "That makes me a little suspicious, as you might understand. Makes me a little nervous."

"That was a misunderstanding." Sam answered. In his arms, Dean's mumbled something, his head whipping to the right, colliding hard with Sam's chest. Grunting slightly, he managed to catch Wynn's next words.

"Oh, so those murders he was accused of committing were just a type-o?" Sam winced; realizing there would be no way out of this but the truth. He was sure Dean could find some quick witted reply that would set Wynn on some higher course of thinking, thus saving them from breaking her nice, normal fantasy about life. He'd find a way to keep her in the dark about the monsters that roamed the outskirts of her reality, so close that, if the lights were turned on, she'd see them.

"That was a…" Sam struggled with the words. "Dark double of Dean. It could change shapes and take on the memories of who ever it made itself to look like." _Like the Vulcan mind meld. _Sam smiled, hearing his brother's words inside his head. Wynn's eyes narrowed. _'Let her think I'm crazy.' _"Um, it took on Dean's physical and mental state until finally, the real Dean," He gestured toward his brother in his arms. "Shot him…killed him. They buried the double under Dean's name and we split."

"Oh, I see." Wynn said, smiling. She shook her head, bruised face pulled into an amused expression. Gently, she leaned back into her bonds and let her head rest against the bed post. "I believe you now. Of course, it makes sense that you're brother's evil twin was behind all of this."

Sam realized he should have skipped all of this truth nonsense and said they were in witness protection. Cursing himself, he continued down this pointless road.

"Look, we grew up with a really twisted sense of reality. The things that go bump in the night…the voices in the shadows, they are real, and they are out there." Wynn's eyes were scanning the floor as though bored, but Sam could tell she was listening…and thinking. "Dean and I were raised to hunt these things down and kill them."

Sam couldn't help but notice, even in this dire situation, with his brother shaking and shivering in his arms, he couldn't help but hear the bitterness in his voice. The details of his past still made him seethe in anger.

Pushing the pain and anger away, he let his eyes drop to Dean. His pale face was sweaty, facial muscles tensed against whatever he could see. His eyes rocketed back and forth beneath his eyelids, lips moving silently. He looked so un-Dean like…this wasn't Sam's pain-in-the-ass older brother. It was someone else.

"Our mom died when I was six months old." Sam could feel Wynn watching him but he kept his eyes on Dean. He traced the outline of Dean's face, burning into his brain every line and every freckle. He could almost see their mother. "Dean was four. I can't imagine what he saw…"

Looking up, he caught the softened expression of Wynn's face before it was covered by a mask of indifference. "Our dad watched her die. She was pinned to the ceiling…bleeding." Sam swallowed. Now that he'd seen her in person and not just in a photograph, this was harder to explain. "She caught fire. He trained us to kill the thing that murdered her."

"Thing?" Wynn asked, her voice low and even. There was no emotion there, just a sick curiosity, as though she were listening to a campfire tale and not a tragic event in one's life.

"Something supernatural killed our mom….something unexplained. We grew up training to kill it. As a sort of practice, we kill every evil thing from here until there and we won't stop. Wendigos, ghosts, poltergeists, demons, shadow creatures, lake monsters, we seem to have faced it all."

"So you're telling me your Mulder and Scully?" Sam smiled slightly and nodded.

"Haven't you ever felt something in the dark? Woken up at night and heard something in the doorway? Something so real you could swear it was standing right in front of you, watching you sleep?" Wynn stared at the ground, almost thoughtful. Sam knew he was getting through to her somehow. "They are real, Wynn. And what happened to your husband," She didn't look up, didn't even blink. "That was weird, don't you think?"

Silence filled the air between them, broken occasionally by Dean's shaky breathing. Wynn didn't move, she didn't even seem to breathe. It seemed like forever ticked by before she looked up, her eyes slightly shiny. "Something happened to my husband, and those other people. But this…."

"You're a journalist. You can't tell me you haven't seen things… things that absolutely cannot be explained." He took her silence for a 'yes'. "My brother has about five days to live. Please, help me help him." Wynn stared at him, her face pale. "I swear we will find out what killed your husband."

Letting her head fall back, a growl of frustration escaped Wynn's lips. "Fine." She answered. It was so quiet, Sam barely heard it. "Where do we begin?"

**SUPERNATURAL**

Dean struggled, pushing himself as hard as he could against the wall behind him. The creature was coming forward, fire hissing as spitting from the depths of its dark core. The fire sprang out at him, licking at his arms, reaching out for his face. Its heat pushed him back but he could get no further. He'd come as far as he could go.

Above it, the open sky rushed past, clouds and lightening burning his sight. It hurt, everything hurt. Eyes watched him from the dark, red and glistening. They burned his soul, pierced his heart and made him want to cry. He couldn't, all his tears had been shed.

The creature reached out, grasping his upper arm like a vice. Beneath its burning hand, he could feel the bones of his arm snapping and shattering. The pain radiated up his shoulder, flooding into his collarbone, cutting off his breath.

Words from twenty-two years ago traversed the boundary of time and escaped the fire of its mouth. _"Dean." _He was four again, standing in his pajamas, shivering in the darkness of Sammy's bedroom. The dark figure loomed over him, cutting off any scream waiting to escape his lips. _"Go back to bed. Forget me." _

The creature's grip fell, the pain lessened. He stumbled sideways and fell into the hall, his body no longer child-like but adult. The figure towered over him in the doorway, a mass of blackness with swirling black eyes.

_"Not a word to anyone…ever." _

_**TBC…**_

zippdipp I miss you, so come back and keep beta-ing for me. LOL.

To the reviewers who I can't reply over email (Lil, dean's girl, Erica) thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

Hey everyone, thank you so much for reviewing. Like usual, I have no excuse for the long wait except...well, no, no excuse. Thanks and I hope you enjoy this chapter. By the way, I don't own Supernatural cause if I did, we'd see a lot more of Jensen's chest...and Jared's for all you other people out there.

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter Nine**

"Thanks for coming on such short notice." Sam peeked his head around the bathroom door, peering out into the main room where Wynn stood beside the front door, back far enough to let her brother in and not the driving rain.

Devon smiled, pulling his soaked hood from his curly black hair and glanced around the room, his eyes resting on Sam for a moment before falling on Dean. A look of concern crossed his handsome features before fading into admiration. Sam shook his head and went back into the bathroom, spitting toothpaste into the sink.

In the main room, he could hear Wynn and Devon talking. "What happened? Is he okay?" There was stretching silence. Sam stood still, staring into the mirror with a mouthful of rinse water, listening almost desperately for Wynn's answer. He wanted his brother to be okay, but somehow he needed to hear it from someone else.

"Yeah, he'll be fine." Came Wynn's reply, but she didn't sound to sure. On the contrary, her voice was laced with concern, too late in Sam's opinion. After all, she was the one who put Dean there in the first place. "Um, Sam and I are going to talk to a guy in Wichita, so we'll be gone a few hours. Just look after him, that's all I'm asking."

Sam spit into the sink, replaced his toothbrush in its special plastic casing, and moved into the main room. His eyes darted instantly toward Dean, lying still fully clothed on the bed, covers pulled up to just under his ribcage. He was mumbling again, head turning gently on the pillow, face pale in the dim afternoon light. How long would he be like that this time?

Rummaging through his duffle bag, Sam pulled out a jean jacket and his wallet. He only had twenty bucks; the Impala would need at least fifty for gas. "I'll need money." He said, glaring up at Wynn who stood at the bay window, watching the rain pounding outside. She glanced back, slender hand still resting on the off-white curtains.

"Money?" Her tone was cold, eyes narrowed. Sam couldn't believe this! After all she'd put him through in the last eight hours, she was going to get stingy now? It was her own damn fault. If she hadn't knocked Dean out, they'd have enough money to get to Wichita, he'd take care of it. "We'll take my car." She turned her attention back to the outside world. "Yours eats gas."

"Worth it." Devon said, pulling a chair up beside Dean and plopping himself down on it heavily. Sam shook his head.

"No, our car has everything we need in it." He didn't tell her anymore then that. She didn't need to know about the secret weapons locker in the trunk or the fake ID's in the glove compartment. She'd know all that when the time came, but for now she could remain ignorant. "Don't fight me on this. It's your fault anyway."

Wynn's mouth tightened and she turned her back on the window. Now that she was turned toward him, her bruised face and split lip standing out harshly in the dim light, his tough guy act faltered. He'd never known a girl who was so scary.

"Fine." She said finally, grabbing her cell phone off the table. "I'll be in _your_ car." Moving a little stiffly still, compliments of the fist fight the night before, Wynn slammed the motel door shut and left the three men inside silent, listening to the pounding rain and the steady _drip drip_ of the bathroom sink's tap.

After a tense, awkward moment, Devon cleared his throat. "So…what happened to her face?" Sam, who had been watching the door, walked slowly and steadily toward the bed. Dean didn't even stir as Sam sat down beside him, didn't even wake as his younger brother rubbed his palm across his cheeks. There was no sand, only heat. Worried, Sam leaned over and pulled the covers down a little further.

"Well, we got in a fight." Sam answered, glancing worriedly at Devon. The other man sat in silence for a moment and then smiled.

"She had it coming." Sam felt relief wash through him. He'd half expected Devon to spring across the bed and beat him for even laying a hand on his sister. "So, who are you going to talk to?"

"A paramedic. We're looking further into that case." Devon nodded knowingly but there was something in his eyes that worried Sam. He knew something more then he was letting on…something he didn't want Sam to know he knew. "What?"

"Nothing." Devon's eyes dropped to Dean. "Anything special that needs doing?" Sam shook his head.

"If he changes, call me. My number's on this cell." Reaching out, he placed Dean's cell phone in Devon's waiting hand. "All you have to do is…"

"Yeah, I know. I have a cell phone just like it." Devon flipped the phone open and began pressing buttons, searching through the numbers before he came to Sam's. "Got it. If anything changes I'll let you know."

"Thanks. He might get restless. He's just been…having bad dreams." Sam leaned closer to his brother, bringing his lips to Dean's ear. "I'll be right back." He whispered over the mumbling. "I'm not leaving."

Below him, Sam swore he felt Dean relax for a moment but the feeling was gone to fast for him to know for sure. With one last glance back, Sam left, shutting himself out in the rain, for the first time he felt alone.

**SUPERNATURAL**

The rain persisted, lifting just before they parked outside of the fire house. There, sitting outside of the large, brick building, sitting half in half out of his ambulance was a young, handsome man.

Sam stared at him in curiosity. He was the prime example of a Greek God. The sun, which had before been hiding behind the swirling clouds, dissipated at the exact moment to throw this man into brilliant afternoon light.

Reddish blond hair cut short above a slightly oriental looking tanned face…sparkling teeth as he smiled over something the person on the other end of his cell phone call said. He was the man women swooned over and men hated with a passion. The very sight of him made Sam cringe, especially when Wynn giggled next to him.

"Please tell me you're not looking at that guy." Sam muttered, tearing his eyes away from the God in the ambulance and leaning across her. He pulled out the box of ID's, rifling through them until he found his Homeland Security badge and a journalist pass. He handed the pass to Wynn and pocketed the badge. "He's gay."

"He's hardly gay." Wynn shot back, staring at the badge in her hand. She frowned, her bruised face impassive. "And where the hell did you get this? Or that." She pointed to his coat pocket, the badge inside. Sam gave her a hard look, trying to curb her curiosity with a look. Dean often said he'd be more worried by a six day old puppy giving him that look then he was of Sam but at this moment he needed to throw the journalist off track.

"Look, how 'bout no questions. Don't ask, don't tell. Simple?" Wynn's face turned from impassive to murderous in a second.

"I have enough dirt on you that the CIA will be knocking down my door to get it." She hissed back, leaning closer to him. Sam refused to back off. He had to bite back his politeness and become Dean Winchester's little brother. If that meant stepping on someone's toes, so be it. "I've been doing this for ten years…since you were still playing with your geometry set." Sam felt his face flush and hot anger rise like bile in his throat. "Who the hell are you to tell me to…"

"Look, I've been doing this for twenty-two years." He interrupted. On his face, the soft whisper of her minty breath made his eyes itch. "So, follow my lead, or sit in the car. Your choice." Leaning back, he went to open the door but halted, his hand still on the handle. Turning back, he glared over his shoulder. Wynn still hadn't moved, continuing to shoot ice into his soul with her expression. "And the CIA? Go ahead. We've stayed one step ahead of them before, what's to say any 'dirt' you have is going to make a difference?"

The wind was bitterly cold as he pulled himself out of the Impala, the squeak of the passenger door announcing Wynn was following him, despite her anger. Sam smiled to himself in triumph as he crossed the street, nestling his hands deep into his pockets to protect them from the post rain cold. He'd got one up on the nosy reporter…maybe he'd make Dean proud after all.

The man in the ambulance closed his cell phone only after Sam had flashed his badge. By the look on his face, he didn't look too happy about ending his call on account of them.

"Are you Butch Woman?" Wynn piped up, pushing forward and knocking Sam's shoulder forward. Grimacing, he suppressed his anger and gave her a scalding look before turning back to the Greek-God wannabe just in time to catch the tail end of his scoff.

"My name is not Butch Woman." He growled, eyeing them both with distaste…but Sam got the brunt of the glare. "It's pronounced Whew-Maine." Carefully, he stepped down from the ambulance and closed the door behind him. "What can I do for you?"

Though he directed his question at Wynn, Sam took charge. "I want to talk to you about your partner, Phil Stiller." _Because his ghost might be killing my big brother. _

Butch sighed, his face instantly shifting into a poorly masked look of sadness. Stepping back, he leaned against the ambulance and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. "What do you want to know?"

"I've been researching your partner for an old case we've re-opened. The accident, when the bus flipped? Can you tell me more about that?" Butch gave him a cold, searching look. "It's just; we're pressing new charges on the driver of the other vehicle."

Butch's look softened now that he knew he wasn't the one being investigated. It was amazing how the innocent could become so guarded when it came to such matters. Sam had always been a great observer of people, more so then Dean or their Dad. He knew when guards were being thrown up and he knew the exact moment to try and break them down. The only problem was this method seemed to be blown to smithereens by the absolute emotionally closed off master that was his brother.

"That bastard came out of no-where." Butch suddenly spit out, his face turning a slight shade of red. His control was slipping and the need to vent was quickly rising to the surface. Shifting slightly, Sam took a step back from the man, knowing although he was a head taller; the fact was that Butch out weighed him muscularly by about sixty pounds.

"I was driving, Phil was in the back." Butch shook his head, his eyes glazed as he was transported to the exact moment he was describing. "The kid's head was practically blown off. The back was gone. I just remember Phil didn't want to give up on him 'cause he was the same age as Robbie."

"Who's Robbie?" Wynn asked, in her hands was a small pad of paper and a pencil. Sam wished he could step on her foot…or nail her mouth shut.

Butch gave them a confused look, eyes shifting cautiously from Sam to Wynn. "He's…"

"He's Phil's son, I know." Sam gave Wynn a piercing, 'shut the hell up before I shut you up' look. "Continue."

Butch had been knocked out of his stride. Clearing his throat, he stammered a moment before continuing. "Um…Phil, ah…he tried. There was no pulse, no repertory…that kid was so far gone he was cold and his lips were blue."

The ghost of a smile flitted across his thin lips, and his greenish eyes lit up. It was the glow people got when they remembered a good person. It was the look Sam felt deep inside him when he thought of Jess, it was the look Dean and John had when they thought of Mary and now it was the look Butch wore as he remembered his friend. Watching it now, basking in its light, Sam couldn't imagine why Phil would be killing so many people.

"I was going fast, my sirens blazing. We went through an intersection and the light was green…I swear." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more then Sam or Wynn. "Some idiot in a large truck ran a light, drunk, and slammed into our ambulance. The bus flipped and after that I don't remember much."

"Try." This time Wynn's voice was low, coaxing but not cold. Quite the opposite, she sounded empathetic and seemed to ease Butch. He glanced at her and then turned his attention back to the ground.

"When I woke up, I heard that the kid had been pronounced on scene, and Phil was in a coma. The first thing he asked when he woke up was if the boy was alright." Butch sniffed and glanced at Wynn again.

"Do you remember the kid's name? The one that was shot?" She whispered, curiosity creeping over her bruised features. Butch blinked and then nodded.

"Yeah, 'course. Travis Podcerwinski." Butch seemed to shudder at the name. "I'll never forget that kid. I've seen some…things, in my time but that kid..."

"That night, did you feel anything strange? Did anything out of the ordinary happen?" Butch shook his head, making Sam's stomach drop.

"Except the stress. The kid dying pushed Phil over the edge. He began having trouble sleeping and…hallucinations. He'd sometimes tell me about what he saw." Butch laughed nervously, as though what he was about to say next would shock them. "He said he saw that little boy."

"Thanks for your time." Sam answered, shaking Butch's hand. Without looking back he walked away, hands deep in his pockets as he fought the cold. It still didn't answer why Phil was killing Dean.

"What's up, kid?" Wynn had joined him, in all her black haired fury. She stared up at him, keeping pace despite the fact that her legs were much shorter.

"We go back to the motel, check out this Travis kid, see if he had a problem besides a violent death." Unlocking the door, he got gratefully into the warmth of the Impala and turned over the ignition. The car roared to life beneath him, purring at his gentle touch.

"Okay." Wynn climbed in and shut the door. "So, ghosts? They have this thing with dying badly or something?" She pulled out the press pass and handed it to him.

"Yeah, their picky that way." Sam muttered back, pulling the fake ID box from the glove compartment and shoving the badge and pass inside as quickly as he could. The last thing he wanted was to give Wynn a sneak peak at the tools of their trade.

"Ghosts," He explained, "Have a very black and white outlook on life." Wynn raised her eyebrows, "Death. They don't see half guilty and half innocent. If you feel guilty for their death, they blame you." Pulling away from the stationhouse, Sam drove onto the next street over. "Phil blamed himself from Travis' death, so _Travis_ blamed him. I think Travis was haunting Phil, possibly caused him to have disturbed sleep, gave him a heart attack and then was released when Phil died. Then Phil, angry, is killing people trying to find Travis."

Wynn stared out the window, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular. "This is so crazy…"

"So crazy it's sane, I know. Like I said, this has been my life for twenty-two years." Ahead, a squat, shabby store caught his interest. Making a sharp, illegal U-turn, he ignored Wynn's angry remarks and parked on the street, not even bothering to fill the meter. It was unlikely there would be a guard out in the short little bit of time he planned to spend inside.

"Sammy, what the hell…" Wynn had called him Sammy; therefore, he deliberately closed the store's door in her face when she tried to follow.

It was cramped and smelled of incense and oils. Crowded shelves over flowing with old packs of Tarot cards, Voodoo dolls, spell books, Memory Jars, Herbs, Potions and Amulets.

Sam walked along the shelves, staring at the contents with mild interest. They all seemed kosher enough but he couldn't be sure. Picking up a pack of old, crumbling Tarot Cards, he scanned the back, looking for a company logo of some sort. There wasn't one, these were the real deal…and old enough they shouldn't be sitting on some random store shelf.

At the very back he found what he was looking for. Some were musty and falling apart, others brand new and obviously bought from some backwater, hick town, Sunday flea market.

Grabbing the item in the middle, he examined it for a long moment, ignoring the soft flutter of Wynn's warm breath on his neck as she stared over his shoulder at the dream catcher he was flipping around in his calloused hands. It looked like it had been used for years, the lingering memory of caught dreams tingling up his fingers and tickling his senses. This new ability to feel and see things was worrying and exhilarating him.

"A dream catcher?" Wynn snorted in disgust, shaking her head and turning away, staring through a glass case at a pair of shrunken heads.

"Dream catchers, if made properly, work. They're specially made to filter bad dreams from good and catch evil spirits." Sam explained, brushing lightly past her on his crusade for the counter.

A stooped old woman sat on a stool behind the ancient till. She was so small, Sam thought if she stood, she'd still be waist height on him. He said not a word to Wynn as he paid and ignored her disgruntled muttering when he abruptly left, dream catcher in hand.

"You think that stupid thing if going to work against a ghost?" Sam smiled slightly, holding the door open for her. It was a mocking gesture but for some reason he still felt very gentleman-like doing it. "It's rubbish. It won't do a damn thing…" Her eyes moved past him to the Impala. "And you've had a lot of bad luck today, sport."

Turning, Sam's heart sank. A ticket sat on the windshield, held down by one of the wipers. Damn those meter maids!

**TBC…**

**T**hanks for the reviews again and I promis I will try to update soon!


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I just want to thank everyone for the reviews! They are well appreciated. As well, the dream sequence in this chapter is fairly graphic, so just be warned. I don't own Supernatural and, although that may one day change, for now I am simply a poor high school student.

Sorry for any spelling mistakes, I didn't have my beta read it yet. I tried to catch as many as I could!

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 10**

Devon Cameron admired the Winchester brothers. He could see love there, a sibling bond that could never break no matter how dire the situation. He and Wynn had it too, although it didn't seem to be as strong as theirs no matter how similar the two families seemed.

The memories of his and Wynn's past always made him pause. He'd been nine, she was seven. Always the older brother, he'd tried to help his sister cope with their father's new existence…or so he called it. Their dad had been paralyzed. Cop before the accident, the lack of mobility had angered him into the bottle and he'd never recovered. He'd died when Devon was twelve, leaving the two children in their uncle's care. That's when they'd come to Axlynn. They'd never left.

Staring at Dean now, he could see the same sort of connection. An older brother, caring for his younger sibling. Wynn had managed to dig up the death of their mother…fire, and the many arrests of their father. No wonder he liked the guy. They were practically the same. Add looks and a strange, sick charm, it made Dean Winchester the perfect man…if he was homosexual.

So the betrayal he was about to perform made this whole thing so much worse. Getting slowly up from the chair, he moved quietly across the room and crouched down next to the first duffle bag he came to. Unzipping it slowly, he pulled the two flaps aside and felt his heart clench.

Beneath the worn canvas were shotguns, handguns, grenades, various sizes and shapes of brass knuckles including a pair with religious symbols carved over the entire surface and a shit load of amulets, crosses and other things he could find no name for.

Glancing over his shoulder, he stared at the still form on the bed. Talk about paranoid. What could these men possibly need this much protection for?

The next bag was the one Sam had placed his stuff in. It was almost completely empty save for a couple of extremely dirty shirts, some underwear and socks. A photo album at the very bottom sparked his curiosity and he pulled it out, thumbing through the glossy pages.

The inside cover had a small note inside. _'To Sam, I love you baby. Happy birthday. Forever yours, Jess.' _

Devon smiled slightly. The pictures were mostly of a very pretty blond woman clinging to Sam's neck, both smiling. Sometimes they were surrounded by friends, other times they were alone. One, in the middle of the book, however, made him pause.

Jess, who he was assuming was the pretty blond, sat on a deck with a beer in her hand, held up to eye level in a mock salute. Sam sat beside her, leaning close to her with his eyes off somewhere to the right. Over his shoulder, in the shadowed livingroom was a dark shadow, so slight, Devon was sure his eyes were deceiving him. Was it really there? Was there anything there at all? It looked almost human but he swore he saw a spark of red where it's eyes should be...

Blinking, unsure, he moved the picture a little more toward the window, trying to cast more light on the picture. Now there was nothing there and no hint there ever had been. He must be tired…

At the very back was a picture of a man and a woman standing outside of an old two story house. Curious, Devon pulled the picture from its protective lining and turned it over.

_'John and Mary Winchester, Lawrence Kansas. 1978.' _So these people were their parents? Putting the photograph back he flipped over the page and found a few pictures of a younger Sam and Dean taken some seven or eight years ago. One picture showed Dean sitting behind the wheel of the old Impala while Sam leaned down next to the driver's window, staring at something in the front seat.

Next to that one, a more recent photograph, taken only a few years ago, showed Sam and Dean sitting in the woods. Behind them there were trees and the outlines of graves a little farther along. Dean leaned against a tree, a shovel in one hand, a coke in the other. He was covered from head to foot in dirt, his once blue jacket stained blackish brown. His hair was a little longer, falling in short, muddy strands onto his forehead. Sam sat on a rock by his feet, a little cleaner with a few scrapes on his face, holding a rifle and looking as fed up as anyone could ever appear to be.

Devon stared at the back ground of the picture, afraid he would again see the shadowy image but it wasn't there. His heart seemed to unclench a little. A strange feeling, considering it was only a trick of the light and nothing more.

The bag also held a few books and some back string. Stuffing the clothing back in as close to the way he'd found it, Devon dropped the bag back on the ground and opened the dresser.

Old ratty shirts, some ripped pants and a mess of silk boxers were inside. Riffling through the clothing, he found nothing of interest.

The bed's squeak made him spin around, eyes bugging up in fear, hand accidentally slamming the dresser drawer shut. _"Way to go, James Bond!"_ he chastised, thinking he'd woken Dean up. He hadn't. The older Winchester shifted in the bed, muttering nonsense words under his breath while cringing away from something only he could see.

Sighing in relief, Devon turned back to his task, shame washing over him yet again. There was one more bag he hadn't checked. Grabbing its handles, he pulled it onto Sam's bed and unzipped it.

The smell of cologne and dirt washed over him, making him gag slightly. An envelope filled with more pictures, a note book with a few scribbles and runes written on it along with doodles and a very good poem written in a woman's handwriting…and a book?

The book was old, many of the pages yellow and age spotted. Black and white photos of a man obviously in the Marines were stuffed haphazardly into a pocket in the front of the book along with an old, crumpled picture of the Winchester family in front of the same old two story on the other picture.

Thumbing through the book, Devon paused on a few of the diary entries, taking the time to read bits and pieces of them.

"_November 6, 1983: I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don't believe it. Last week, we were a normal family...eating dinner, going to Dean's T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy."_

_"Half our house is gone, even though the fire burned for only a few hours."_

_"How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife, just burn up and disappear?"_

_"Last night I was sitting in Sam and Dean's room, in the dark, and I heard these noises...Mike said it was the wind, and okay, maybe it was, but it sounded almost like whispering, like someone was whispering a name, under their breath, again and again...Like something is out there in the dark, watching us...I stayed up all night, just watching them, protecting them. From what, I don't know. Am I protecting them? Am I hurting them?"_

_"Here's the weird part. When I wake up, sweating and panting...I swear there is something there. I can feel it, hovering over me, over my boys. It's watching, it's waiting, I think it's even mocking me...You couldn't stop this. You couldn't keep her safe. You can't keep them safe."_

_"The one thing they did say was that all the evidence points toward the nursery ceiling as the fire's flashpoint. Which doesn't make a lot of sense from a fireman's perspective - almost all electrical fires start in the walls. But to me...it makes a heck of a lot of sense to me."_

_"But then I remembered...when I went back into Sammy's room that night, when I tried to get to Mary...the fire leapt out. Leapt out at me...like it had a purpose, like it wanted to keep me away, to stop me from reaching her. Like someone was controlling it."_

_"That night...Mary on the ceiling...I convinced myself I imagined it, made it up somehow. But now I know, without a doubt - she was up there. I don't care what anyone says, the police or Mary's family, or Mike. Let them call me crazy. I know what I saw."_

_"Missouri shaken had freaked me out too...she said she could feel the evil, she could sense the echo from that night...of a horrible presence that was there. She felt it, felt that thing that did that to us, to my wife."_

_"This year, I'm making a resolution. I'm going to find out what happened to my wife."_

Shivering, he glanced around the room, his eyes clinging to the ceiling for a moment, as though he could suddenly feel a ghostly, evil presence watching him from above. He pushed the feeling aside and shoved the book back into the bag. As he moved to push the tattered shirt back inside, a buzzing, clicking sound whirred to life beneath his hand.

It looked like a busted-up walkman. Curious, he held it out in front of him, moving his hand left and right. The buzzing sound grew louder as he drew toward Dean's bed.

"Weird." He muttered, leaning over the sleeping Winchester. The buzzing had grown to a shrill shriek that eased as he pulled away again. Turning it off, he wrapped it back up in the shirt and threw it into the bag. What ever it was, it seemed to like Dean a lot…but then, who wouldn't?

The only other thing left in the bag was a pill bottle. The subscription said Hector Afranian, who ever the hell that was. They looked to be some sort of pep pill, the bottle half empty.

The laptop needed a password and user name so he left it alone, deciding it was easier to write down the names and phone numbers on Dean's cell phone instead. Pastor Jim, Cassie, Sam, Dad, Caleb… The list wasn't as long as he'd have thought a guy like Dean Winchester would have, but it meant he only had to steal one piece of paper off the pad beside the laptop and that would add less suspicion.

Once he was done his thorough investigation of the room, he settled down in his chair again to wait. Dean's mumbles and hisses slowly grew and dropped in tempo until they faded away again into silence leaving Devon to contemplate the strange, evil feeling he felt settle around him. Maybe it was just the residual effect of reading those diary entries, or maybe it was just the fact that he felt so alone but he was suddenly more afraid then he'd ever been in his life.

It came as a relief when Wynn and Sam came into the room, stripping off their damp coats, talking in hushed voices…well, arguing. Springing from his seat, Devon tried not to rush as he crossed the room and came to a halt beside his sister, facing Sam.

"Did he wake up at all?" Sam asked, his face grim. He looked much older and paler. The evil feeling in the room suddenly dissipated, the heavy feeling that had settled on Devon's chest lifting.

"No. He called for you a few times though…then he went quiet." Sam turned, moving across the old, musty carpet and pulled a dream catcher from his pocket. Carefully, he stood up on Dean's bed and attached the old ratty object to the picture frame directly above the sleeping Winchester's head.

"Thanks, by the way." Sam said, stepping off the mattress. He sat down on his bed and began stripping off his soaking shoes. Devon tried to keep his face set in an innocent expression. He couldn't bear this gratitude because it was so ill gained. "I appreciate it."

"Yeah, no problem." Devon answered, feeling Wynn's tug on his arm. Gently, he allowed her to pull him from the room. Dimly, he heard her saying she'd phone Sam later that night and dimly he noticed himself get into the car. Before too long, they were home, sitting outside of his sister's house, staring through the rain at the darkened windows.

Reaching over, he grabbed Wynn's arm as she made to exit the car. "I hate you for making me do that!" He hissed, letting his hand fall only after she'd settled back in her seat, glaring at him. With fumbling fingers, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper with Dean's phone numbers on it. "Here. Next time do your own dirty work."

Wynn gave him a piercing look before her voice softened. "Thank you, Dev. This was important." When he obviously didn't look convinced, she continued. "Look, these guys…they are so…so…" Wynn fought to find words but they didn't seem likely to come out. Finally, she let her head fall forward onto the steering wheel, a smile creeping across her bruised and battered lips. "This is my biggest story ever."

"I thought you wanted to find out what happened to Keith." At the mention of her husband, Wynn's smile faded but Devon couldn't dredge up any pity for her at the moment. Not after what she had made him do today.

"I get two for the price of one." Slowly, she pushed away from the wheel and stared at the names and numbers Devon had taken off Dean's phone. "I need you to understand. Dean and Sam are something special. They are amazing and that means they are fair game." She glanced over at her brother. "I'm going to make them famous."

Devon felt the chill he felt before, only this time it was accompanied by dread. "I don't think you should."

Wynn smiled and got out of the car. "That's why you're not a reporter, baby."

SUPERNATURAL

_The heat was consuming him. Fire licked at his face and crawled along his arms, blistering his skin. Dean crawled backwards, away from the towering black figure whose shadow seemed to grow darker in the roaring blaze encircling him. _

_Pulling himself into the corner, Dean brought his knees to his chest in an effort to huddle away from the heat and the black, menacing mass baring down on him from an unnatural height. _

_Above the pain searing up his arms and legs like little stabbing, white hot knives, Dean's thoughts raced. Visions of his mother manipulated in his mind until he'd created an image of her burning on the roof like Sammy's girlfriend. _

_Suddenly, his world tilted, the floor became the ceiling and the ceiling became his bed. Dean was lying flat, pinned to the roof, looking down at the shadowy figure below him. Pain held his arms out at his sides, one extended out away from him, bent down at the elbow, the other crooked above his head. _

_Something in his stomach was clawing at him from the inside…like that alien movie, he realized with a thrill of horror. It started as a tingle and then he felt the skin on his toned stomach expanding as the muscles beneath rippled, ripped and parted. His skin felt too tight, the pain blinding as his stomach tore open like the skin of a balloon. Blood rained down on a familiar face who just stood there…watching. _

_Sam. Blood dripped onto his already soaked face…Dean's blood. Below his brother stood, blinking red from his eyes. Dean could feel his life ebbing away, leaving behind an anxious emptiness that began in his torn middle and spread outward to encompass his whole body. _

_"Sam." His voice was croaky and horse. Sam simply blinked, his brown eyes stained crimson. "Sam, help me." _

_The heat, terrible, gnawing heat tingled on his back, the feeling building and building until it released and a wave of fire encompassed him. Tears stung Dean's eyes as he watched his little brother below. His skin was melting away, like candle wax. The only relief Dean felt was the joy of seeing his mother again and the comfort of a child's laughter through the roaring flames. _

Darkness. It was everywhere, suffocating after the fire. Shivering, Dean laid still, eyes darting around the blackness, blinking back the last remnants of pain; he focused on the itchy, cold sweat covering his entire body. What the hell had happened? Had Sam gotten him down from the ceiling?

A car passed somewhere beyond sight and threw an instant of light through the half open curtain and into the motel room. Wynn, the gun…He could see the beautiful journalist's face close to his as they struggled, her features twisting into a look of cold fury. That bitch had knocked him out!

He had to find Sam. Dean moved to turn his head but it wouldn't obey his command. Frowning, he tried again but nothing happened. Maybe that beautiful, sexy, hot black haired bitch had hurt him worse then he'd ever dreamed possible. Great, Wendigos and Poltergeists, no problem, hell even cleaning Sam's underwear…but her…

Beside him, on the bed, he felt Sam shift and heard a soft moan. So Sam was having nightmares too. Served him right, sleeping in Dean's bed…

His thoughts were halted by slight movement near the door. Dean squinted, his only controlling movement being his eyes. There it was again, shifting shadows in the shape of a person near the door. Dean's breath hitched, his frozen body ending every signal to panic and run but he couldn't. All he could do was lay silent and helpless as the menacing shadow advanced slowly…eerily, dragging one leaden foot and then another toward the bed.

_'Oh my God.'_ Dean thought. There had to be a weapon…something was coming closer, a towering black mass of nothing. The only sounds it made were the shuffling of feet along the carpet and the fire like crackling of heavy breath. He could feel the heat, smell the smoke…

It had found them! The thing they'd been hunting for 22 years had found them! Beside him, Sam shifted, his body pressing lightly into Dean's side as though his subconscious knew the danger and wanted protection.

Dean wanted to cry and scream. The mixed emotions he'd felt when he'd first seen this ting were back, building with in him only to explode as red eyes blinked open in the faceless mask of it's face.

_'I haven't said a word to anyone…ever. Please.' _

The creature was smirking. Even though he couldn't see it, he knew. The eyes were close now, pulsing with the beat of the creature's loud, unseen heart…or was it his heart? Heat burned on his face as it reached across him for Sam.

**TBC…**

**-**I hope my next update will be sooner. I'm sorry for the long wait! It was inexcusable!


	11. Chapter 11

I just wanted to say sorry for the wait. I've been busy with school and now, for the next two days I'll be stuck in a mansion type boarding school at a writing workshop. They are so primitve they have no net access so I wont be able to read any reveiws I might get! Oh well.

I also wanted to thank Liv, as always for helping me come up with this story and now, I want to thank Carocali for putting up with my emails and brainstorming with me. Thanks also to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it made my day.

I don't own Supernatural, although if I did, I'd make Dean do some naughty things with...or right, I think I'm keeping this PG. lol.

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 11**

The heat was building on his cheek and Dean closed his eyes against the swirling smoke tingling his nose and burning his lungs. It was pressing down on his face, smothering him with unseen weight. How the hell had it found them? Why the hell couldn't he move? Oh hell he wanted to kick this son-of-a-bitch's ass!

Opening his eyes, he found himself surrounded by blackness. There was no pale streetlight coming in through the parking lot window. The demon's body was pressing into his, weighing down his chest, cutting off his breath. He couldn't have screamed even if his voice weren't frozen because the sudden weight had pushed the air from his lungs.

His head was swimming but he still had the presence of mind to feel Sam roll away from him, contact breaking completely. Sam had just rolled away from the demon but also safety. It was Dean's job to keep him safe and here he was, trapped with in his own body, unable to move or breathe.

Tears stung his eyes and began leaking down his face as he struggled against his paralysis. A rushing was filling his ears, growing in tempo, shifting and changing to the _thump thump thump_ of his speeding heart. He was going to die. He couldn't breathe. Sam was going to die.

The vision of Jess on the roof morphed into a vision of his mother burning in the kitchen before him a few weeks ago, in Lawrence. He could feel the tremble of his hand holding the shot gun as he stood between her and Sam, watching fire dancing around her face.

He could feel the pain of seeing her again, her beautiful face smiling weakly as she watched him…so close he could almost have reached out and touched her. She'd been just as he'd remembered when he was four, that smile as she tucked him in, the look in her eyes that suggested they were alone in the world…it was just the two of them.

He swallowed the burning itch in his throat, unsure if it was the sudden surge of memories of the smoke rushing down to his starving lungs. He had to break free of his prison. He had to save Sam. He couldn't let this thing pin him to the ceiling like some bug in a dissection pan.

The weight was growing, pressing harder and harder on his body. The rushing sound was dying down, growing fainter as his heart beat slowed. The heavy sensation began to travel up his chest, filling his mouth and rolling like vomit over his tongue. It was sand; he could feel it washing beneath his teeth, warm and gritty. The stinging in his eyes were no longer tears but little, fine golden grains…

As his heart stopped all he thought about was Sam…and how Mom had loved him enough to say she was sorry to him and not her oldest…her oldest who had sacrificed everything in the name of family and love. Sam…sacrifice…love…

His toe wiggled. That's all he needed. The paralysis lifted and Dean bolted upright, a terrified, pleading, bloodcurdling scream tearing at his searing throat as he launched himself across the bed. Crawling frantically across the mattress, he tugged and scrabbled with the mess of blankets twisting around his legs until with a dull _thunk_ he landed hard on the floor beside the dresser.

Sam was calling for him, screaming over the terrified yells of Dean's own voice but he ignored him. He had to reach the gun. He had to save Sam.

Spitting onto the rug as he crawled, Dean grimaced at the gritty feeling of sand in his mouth as he reached into the weapons duffle bag and pulled out a side arm filled with rock salt. Spinning around on the dirty carpet, his knee grating painfully as his sweat soaked jeans rubbed against shag, he aimed at his side of the bed with a shaking hand and fired.

The rock salt tore little pinprick holes in the wall, shattering the glass on the picture above the bed and sending a sharp little rain down on Sam who ducked, arms flying up over his head to protect him from the onslaught.

Dean's voice suddenly fell silent, all noise ripped from his body like a tide as he spun on the spot, gun raised. Sam had, at some point, turned on the lamp between the two beds and now sat there, delicately shaking glass from his hair as he watched his brother cautiously. The demon had been there, he'd seen it! It had almost choked him to death with its swirling body…and the sand.

Letting the gun fall to the ground with a clatter, Dean scooted over to the dresser and leaned against it, his head aching, and his throat dry and scratchy. Every breath hurt and rattled deep inside his chest where the sand had welled just moments before. Had it all been a dream? A nightmare? A cruel joke of his subconscious? The tightness of his chest and the squeeze of lungs around breath told him it wasn't but he couldn't even be sure of his own body anymore.

Sam got up slowly, his eyes shifting around the room as though he were looking for the source of his brother's panic. Dean closed his eyes, feeling his wet eyelashes pressing down on the tight skin beneath. How could he wipe away the tears without Sam noticing?

As Sam sat down by his side and leaned back against the dresser, his shoulder just barely touching Dean's. Bringing his knee up to his chest slowly, he let out a dramaticly tired sigh and leaned his head down to press his right eye into his jeans.

Groaning, he moved his head the side, wiping his wet cheek off before moving to the other one. Hopefully Sam wouldn't notice but the little shit was amazingly perceptive. They sat there like that for a few minutes before Sam broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" Dean rolled his eyes. He could never be less okay. The dreams were getting more intense, his time was running out and any day now, Phil's spirit was going to kill his ass.

Yeah." He answered. His voice was scratchy and the words ripped at the raw flesh inside his throat like razor blades. "I ah," He cleared his throat. "Just a nightmare."

"Were you on the roof like mom…and Jess?" Sam's voice was casual but there was a hint of nervousness in the way he stuttered.

Dean felt his stomach clench and a chill run through him. Pulling his head up slowly from his knee, he stared sideways at his brother. Dean didn't know what to say so he said nothing. Sam had known…Sam always knew. Sam shrugged as though it was just a casual, throw away question but the wrinkle of his brow and the paleness of his face showed his worry.

"No." Dean answered finally, clearing his throat and letting his head fall back onto his knee. "Why?"

Sam shifted beside him but stayed silent. Dean brought his head up again, eyes determinedly fixed on the mess of blankets lying at the end of the bed. There was no sand, just sweat and the tip of one of his socks that had been lost sometime in the last few hours. The crusty tickle of the carpet beneath his toes finally penetrated his brain and he realized dimly that he had only one sock on. He suddenly felt like stupid.

"Sam. Why would I dream about that?" Sweat prickled his back and he wiggled uncomfortably, his shoulder pressing briefly into Sam's but long enough to feel his little brother's tremble.

"I donno." Sam shrugged. "I just had a dream that I was standing under you, like Jess." His voice had taken on a feigned uninterested now, as though they were having a late night discussion about the relationship between Kevin and Britney or the Care Bears. "And then, before I woke up, I had a dream that there was something reaching for me."

Dean swallowed hard and dredged up a smile. "It was just a dream, Sammy." Sam visibly bristled.

"A dream? Is that what you had? A dream?" He pulled away from the dresser and sprang to his feet, stepping over Dean and going over the rock salt wounded wall. "Look at this!" Dean stared at the wall impassively. He had no energy left to feel anything anymore. He was drained. "Dean! This is not nothing!"

"I thought Wynn was there. That bitch deserves some rock salt shot up her ass." Sam sighed dramatically and dropped onto the bed, letting his head fall forward into his hand. "I swear, that woman needs to get laid. High maintenance like her and no husband? Bachelors of America unite, there's trouble brewing." He was trying to make Sam smile…hell, he was trying to make himself smile but it wasn't working. The humor died on the frosty air between the brothers, leaving a long moment of chilly silence in it's wake.

"Dean." Sam's voice was weak. "Dean, what did you dream about?"

"Nothing." Dean cried. Damn it, why did Sam have to push and push and push! It was an annoying habit that someday Dean would beat out of him. Getting up, he moved the safety of the bathroom. "I need a shower."

Closing the door, he locked it and moved to the mirror. His reflection was pale, black circles framing his eyes and tear tracks running down his face. _Oh God, he'd been reduced to this. _Searching his memory, he tried to think of a soap opera man he could compare himself to. A fuzzy memory of laying on Stacy Corbeya's bed, her fingers running through his hair as she traced the scars on the back of his neck with kisses came to him. The television was playing quietly in the background, her dad's snores down the hall as he performed his usual midafternoon nap…

He could barely remember the soap opera Tracy used to watch but it was Days of Our Lives and her favorite character was Eric Brady. Ashamed and slightly amused that he could remember this about a chick he'd had a summer fling with, Dean moved to the shower and drew back the ragged floral curtain. He decided with this whole emotional breakdown he was some stupid soap character like that freakin' Eric Brady who Stacy had liked more then him. Life was so unfair.

And now he was jelous of a tv character! Wasn't it bad enough he was mad at his brother for his Mom…

The shower he turned on full blast. Letting his hand trail for a moment beneath the freezing cold jet of iron smelling water, he finally stripped his jeans and boxers and stepped into the tub. Shivers instantly consumed his body but the beating water beading down his back felt good. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, taking great steadying breaths as the images of tonight's horror movie played out in his mind.

He went through everything he could remember, frame by frame realizing that as he was on the roof, bleeding and on fire, he'd heard a child's laughter. It had calmed him at that moment but now it was chilling and oddly foreboding.

Opening his eyes, he let his head fall forward into the stream. Children's laughter? Was it his? It couldn't be. He'd always remember Sammy's laughter and his own was still practically the same after all these years. No. This voice had been someone else's…and definitely not the Demon's.

"What's happening to me?" Moving to the far end of the shower, he let his legs slip out from under him and fall into a sitting position on the floor, huddled into himself against the freezing shower.

Pain flowed up his body from his chest and stung his eyes. It seemed everything he'd been holding in for the past twenty-two years was bubbling and bursting below the surface. He tried to hold it down but it was too strong. It pushed against his eyes and burned against his throat until it escaped in a silent breathy gasp followed by shuddering sobs that wracked his whole body. The only thing he could think of as he completely broke down was keeping his anguish silent enough that Sammy wouldn't hear.

**SUPERNATURAL**

Sam sat for a long time in the main room, watching the bathroom door. He'd grown up learning to discern the mask that his family always wore. He knew when his brother was lying, in pain or masking his feelings and at the moment it was all three. There was pain there, a painful up swinging of emotion that had settled just below that calm mask since the day they left Lawrence…just a few hours after they'd seen their mom.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Dean was far from okay. In fact, if Sam didn't know any better, he would have guessed this would be the point where Dean would spill his guts about the dreams and the feelings and the nagging jealousy that was almost steaming off of him.

Although he'd never show it nor admit it even to himself, Sam always knew Dean was jealous of him. The attention their dad gave him when he was little, the way the women seemed to flock towards Sam, the quiet, vulnerable, tortured new kid. Though Dean always had a flock of his own and attention from their dad, it was always overshadowed and Sam knew it. He could see it.

Getting up slowly, he moved towards the door and pressed his ear against it. He could hear the cold gurgling moan of the shower. It sounded like it was spitting…keening…It was odd but the thought that the frickin' shower would release ice instead of water was unsurprising seeing as how he'd been shocked when the furthest heat setting in their had given him a mild case of hypothermia. _Dean won't stay in there long. He'd have a hard time picking up women as an ice statue._

He was about to turn away when the sound of the keening changed tempo. Confused, he pressed closer, trying to stop the rubbing sound of his clothes against the wood incase Dean could hear him.

The keening was more of a breathy moan that stuttered for a second and then hissed out long like Morse code. It was barely audible over the shower, yet still there. It was sobbing. Sam'd heard it a few times, once when his father hadn't known he was home and the other when Jess had thought she was pregnant and the world was over. He'd never heard it like this before. This sound was different. This sound was heartbreaking. This sound was terrifying.

Dean was trying to keep it low and noiseless, he could tell by the barely controlled rise and fall of the gasps and heaves as his breath rallied to escape the clutches of his mouth. He'd never heard his brother sob. Cry? Yes, once when he was twelve and their dad had called injured from another town, out of their reach. Sam had sat at the kitchen table and watched his brother desperately try to come up with someway to get him help, finally breaking down when there was non to be had. It had been another hour before they saw their father again, leaning heavily on Caleb who had come to the rescue. Dean had cried that he'd failed. Sam could still feel the fear as he'd watched his stone of a brother break down in the kitchen, clutching the phone to his chest.

Sam raised his fist to knock but thought better of it. He needed Dean to trust him not to judge and if that meant turning a blind eye to what Dean felt, then Sam could do that. He only hoped when the time came he'd be brave enough to do something.

Lingering at the door a second longer, he moved back the bed and collapsed onto the twisted, drying sheets and blankets. He closed his eyes, visualizing the things he'd seen in the dream. In a plane, in the old house in Lawrence, his mom…Dean burning on the ceiling above him like Jess had.

There had also been laughter in the fire. Child's laughter. He'd woken from Dean's screams and the feeling of choking sand filling his mouth.

Reaching up to shift the pillow beneath his head, Sam's hand clasped over something hard and twisted. Sitting up, he grasped the object tightly and held it up to the light.

It was the dream catcher…or what was left of it. The colorful beads were black and twisted as though they'd been thrown into a campfire and fished out long after the flames had subsided. The strings were also black, frayed and broken leaving smudges of ash on his fingers. The acrid smell of burnt plastic and smoke emanated from the deformed dream catcher. Something really powerful had been caught in its web and broken through.

**TBC...**


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey everyone! I can't believe how long it took me to write this chapter but I have a small…well, rather large excuse which is Grad. I graduated on June 30th and it was absolutely hectic! I was thirty minutes late for the ceremony so that sucked! LOL. Well, I hope you like this chapter, it was so so so hard to write but I hope it turned out ok. _

_P.s This hasn't been beta'd. _

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 12**

Dean had always had this one fantasy about a librarian. When he was twelve he'd begun to dream it up, slowly allowing it to evolve and change in his mind until it was perfect.

He closed his eyes against the burning itch that seemed to stab from his pupil all the way back into his brain where it thrust in and out until he was sure he was going to cry blood. The fantasy began to play on the back of his eyelids.

_He was in the back of the library, looking over the history section, still not really sure exactly what he was looking for. Sam had left him there to search through the myths and lore of the city where they were staying. He found it just a relief to be away from their newest craptacular motel room where he'd been cooped up with nothing but his little brother for the past week. _

_The shelves towered over him, casting shadows on the spines of the thick, dusty volumes as his eyes traveled, searchingly over the dull yellow letters. They were a blur, a jumble that neither interested him nor made any real sense. This fantasy was more about the end part then the actually details of his surroundings. _

_He was about to reach for an anthology of war stories when a soft, sexy, honeysuckle sweet voice whispered nearby, blowing hot, minty breath over his ear. He shivered in perverse pleasure, a throbbing warm pulse cascading from his throat to his chest to his stomach…and down..._

_He turned, meeting the brown eyed gaze of a bottle-blond haired Asian, her hair pulled up into a bun held together by chopsticks, her conservative suit jacket and short skirt combo hugging her thin body tightly. It left nothing to the imagination and Dean smiled mischievously. _

_She smirked, her full red lips slowly peeling back to reveal a row of perfectly straight pearly white teeth. She reached up with a delicate hand and began to remove the clips on the diamond earrings from her ears, first the left and then the right. With a simmering, pouty, seductive smile, she strutted right up to him, placed her hand gently against his chest and leaned forward, putting the earrings into his coat pocket. _

"_Saving them for later." She purred, her lips brushing against his as her body pushed closer, her hips ghosting against his for an instant before contact was lost. Dean stepped forward, craving that contact but the librarian teased him, moving just beyond his body's grasp with her hand still on his chest. "No desert without dinner." _

"_Who are you?" Dean asked, his voice cracking against his will. The woman smile, licking her plump red lips. Her fingers grasped both sides of his button up shirt and ripped the fabric open. Small white buttons sprayed the floor and cool, musty air caressed his chest. Now he longed for the warmth of her touch, the feel of her fingers against his skin…_

"_I'm Tara." She purred, pushing her slim body right up against him. Dean shuddered in pleasure as she pressed her red lips to his neck and traced a line from his chin to his the middle of his chest. "I'm the librarian." _

_With an animalistic shove, she slammed him against the bookshelf, which wobbled precariously and tipped a load of history texts onto the floor around them. Dean grabbed Tara's face in both hands and angled it up so he could look into her brown eyes. Then, slowly, gently he…_

A gentle pressure on his shoulder made him look up. Brown eyes stared back at him under heavy eyelids, red lips drawn tight in a kind hearted concern. Although not the woman from his vision, the librarian in front of him had been a looker in her time, no doubt, and even now held that air of dignity and the 'I got them looks' attitude about her. She pulled up a chair next to him and smiled, pushing back a long lock of graying hair from her face.

"Here ya go, officer." She said, handing him a steaming, chipped mug of orange pekoe tea. Although Dean wasn't much of a tea drinker, he instantly brought the mug to his lips and took a small sip, savoring the warmth that flooding over his tongue. For the last few minutes he'd grown a chill which had prompted Maggie to go and fetch him something hot to drink.

She reached up with a wrinkled, vein knotted blue hand and ran it across his forehead and down his cheek. "Hmm, maybe tea aint the best thing for you to be drinking." She said, frowning and pulled her hand away. "You're feeling a little warm." Dean tried to suppress his shiver as he set the tea back down beside the computer he was working at. A bit of the liquid sloshed over the edge and spilt on the wooden desk top.

"I'm fine." He lied, turning back to the computer while trying to ignore the mess he'd just made. He half expected the woman to cuff him upside the head for spilling on her nice clean desk top but she simple tutted and wiped the mess up with the end of her black sleeve. "Just tired."

"They work you officers to hard ya know." She replied, leaning in closer to look over his shoulder at what he was researching. Her long fingered hand unconsciously eased down on his shoulder, her other near his next to the mouse pad as he opened up another browser. It was now damn difficult for him to concentrate on what he was doing with her knee resting seductively against his.

"It's our job, ma'am." He replied. He opened up a new search and typed in 'Death' 'Sand' 'Kansas'. Again he found next to nothing. A few deaths at the beach, a man who had hit his head and suffocated while cleaning out his son's sandbox and a construction accident.

"So, your partner," she whispered, her breath tickling the hair on his neck. "He's a rookie, I take it." Dean smirked. Poor Devon had been completely thrown when Dean had pulled out a fake badge and handed it to him in the car, ordering him to shut up and let Dean do the talking. The young man had complied, following Dean like a lost child as they had marched up to the library's locked door complete with its 'Closed' sign and demanded they be let in on police business. Dean suspected it had more to do with his ill, white pallor and Devon's curly black school by locks then anything else.

"Yeah, he's just a little guy you know? Have to watch out for him." Dean had set Devon the task of reading through old news papers, mainly the obituaries, for any useful tidbits that could lead them to a new clue. Dean was running out of time and the tired ache in his eyes was a constant reminder that the Sandman was waiting for him.

"So, what are you looking for?" Maggie's voice was low and scandalous. Dean glanced up at her, trying to see past the lines that were dug deeply into her face to get a glimpse of the vibrant young woman that obviously still burned beneath. The fact that someone his father's age was hitting on him for some reason made him a little more then pleased and he flirted back, hoping maybe to get a little more help with his task. It never hurt to play all your cards.

"Well, you obviously heard about the deaths in Axlynn." Dean said, opening up another window where the reports written by Wynn Dodge were sitting. The pictures, the words, they all jumped out at him in a mixed up jumble that made absolutely no sense. Maggie nodded and raised a grey/brown eyebrow. "I'm looking closer into it. Some of the families are filing complaints against the police force, claming we didn't look into it far enough. I'm just trying to get some facts and such for the lawyers."

Maggie grinned and pressed some stray hairs back into place around her ears. It was then Dean realized she was wearing diamond earrings. A hot flush ran through his face and he turned away from her, blocking the Asian fantasy out of his mind. He could still see the playfulness in her eyes…feel the touch of her lips on his neck…

A tickle ran down his neck and he wiped it away, grimacing at the bead of sweat on his palm. Now that the chill had drifted away he was feeling hot and enclosed. Ignoring the worried stare from Maggie, he quickly pulled off his jacket and peeled away the sweaty button up, long sleeved shirt beneath. The black tee-shirt that was plastered to his sweat soaked torso he left on, unsure of how much _help _Maggie would give him if that was the next thing to go.

"I'm sure you did your job." She said, leaning closer into him. "Maybe though, I can help." She gently tugged the mouse out of his hand and tapped his leg until he moved far enough out of the way for her to reach the key board. "Okay, 'Sand' 'Death's' 'Axlynn'." She sent the search through and came up with purple icons, ones Dean had already opened up. "Hmmm. You've just done a Kansas search?" She asked. Dean nodded and rubbed his left eye which suddenly felt extremely itchy. "How about a middle Untied States search?"

Again and again they came up with nothing. Maggie, it seemed, was getting a little more frustrated with every new search and after about an hour, gave up. Dean leaned back in his chair, legs cramped, back sore. He'd been wishing he'd gone with Sam to Calvin Oaks Center more and more since they'd arrived.

"So where are ya from, Dean?" Maggie asked playfully, cracking her knuckles and trying a new search engine. Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes, finding it harder and harder to concentrate.

"Lawrence." He answered without thinking. Lawrence had been on his mind lately, under the surface of all his other thoughts. Mostly it was his Mom. Every time he let himself stray, let his mind wander and not concentrate on any one thing, even that damn library fantasy, he saw her, standing in the kitchen on fire. He smelt her as she walked past, the sleeve of her nightgown rubbing against his jacket. Her voice as she said sorry to Sam and not him…never him…

And beneath that memory was another…the smell of death, of fire, of decay. He felt the heat of the fire against his face as his father had placed Sammy in his arms…felt the heat of the demon's touch on his arm when it had grabbed him…when it had thrown him to the floor. '_Not a word to anyone…ever.' _

Suddenly the lights in the library flickered and the computer screen went black a split second before the rest of the room. Letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, he looked around, grateful for the two story windows overlooking the brightly lit parking lot outside. At least they had a little light.

"Now, what the hell?" Maggie groaned as she got slowly to her feet. She cautiously began picking her way around the computer desks towards her office where Dean assumed she had a source of light. "It's okay, probably just a power failure, nothing to worry about."

But Dean wasn't so sure. Power failures didn't look like this. Carefully, he got up, his eyes watching every shadow and every book shelf for movement that shouldn't be there. So intent he was on the darkness closing in around him that he jumped when Devon's silhouette appeared against the orange glow of the windows nearby.

"Dean, you there?" Devon obviously couldn't see him in the shadows and was walking steadily forward with his arms out like a zombie, feeling his way into the computer section. Dean reached out and touched the younger man's wrist making him jump. "What happened?" Devon hissed.

Dean stood very still and looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the librarian's office. A faint yellow glow flickered in the doorway and drew nearer until he could clearly see the face of Maggie, lit from beneath by the long white candle she held in her hands.

"I guess years of smoking finally helped me out." She said, setting the candle down next to Dean's dead computer. "I always have a lighter with me and the vanilla candles were to block out the smell." Dean grinned and took his seat again, flicking the computer angrily. Now what?

As though the Psychic Wonder was drawn by somehow by Dean's new distress, his cell phone rang shrilly in his pocket. It was Sam, calling to check up on him.

"Yeah, what do you want?" Dean answered. There was a pause and then Sam cleared his throat.

"Are you okay? You sound stressed." Dean rolled his eyes._ The power was out, he was tired, he was cranky, he was sweating worse then he had in Arizona when they'd walked for forty minutes straight on the back road after the car had died eight years ago and he now had to play patient with Sam's annoying Captain Obvious impression…throw in a head ache and the need to kill someone...ya, he was stressed. _

"Yeah Sam! I'm stressed. The power's out at the library and I lost all my research!" He growled, instantly regretful of the tone he'd taken with his little brother. It wasn't Sam's fault in the slightest but it felt good to vent his anger on someone. "How bout there, anything?"

"We're just about to play with the EMF again. We got some interesting EVP but it was only whispering, nothing definite. Freaked the hell outta Wynn though."  
Dean grinned wickedly and felt a surge of pleasure rise up inside of him. As long as Wynn was uncomfortable, Dean was on cloud nine. "Is that all you called for?"

Sam cleared his throat again and Dean could almost hear his cogs working. Sam had never been a good lier and was definitely not good at hiding when he was worried or anxious. "Yeah, you know, just wanted to make sure you weren't sleeping on the job."

"I won't be sleeping anytime soon, Sammy. No worries. I'll call you if I need you. Now, can you please shut up so I can get some work done?" Sam made a mock hurt sniffle over the phone.

"Awe, Dean. We're going to have to get this thing soon so you can have your nap." Dean shut his phone with a snap and turned to Devon.

"What do you have?" Devon took a seat opposite him, barely giving Maggie a glance. He seemed to be trying to ignore her and for some reason had taken an immediate dislike to her from the first moment they had been introduced.

"Well, I found something that you might be interested in." He handed some loose leaf paper over to Dean who held it up to the candle light and squinted to read it. "Travis Podczerwinski was the little boy that was killed when Phil's ambulance flipped."

"Do you have an address?" Devon's pride at finding something soon dissolved into a look of hurt.

"No, that's your job." He answered. Dean smiled despite himself and blinked in surprise as the lights flickered back on the all the computers along the row began re-booting. Maggie smiled.

"Well finally." She said, turning back to the computer. "Shall we continue?" She looked pointedly at Dean who tiredly shook his head.

"No, we should probably head out. We have a huge night ahead of us and we should get going. Besides," Dean eyed her wedding ring. "You should be getting home don't you think?" Maggie looked down at her left hand and blushed, a disappointed smirk crossing her face.

"Yeah, I guess." She whispered. "But with any luck he fell asleep in the tub with a beer and the toaster." Slowly, she leaned over, her eyes still on Dean as she blew out the candle. Dean turned away, grabbing his shirt and his leather jacket from a table nearby. He turned to Devon who looked uneasy.

"I have to hit the head." Devon muttered, getting up and moving towards the bathroom, still glancing around the library nervously. Dean watched him for a moment, felt rather then saw Maggie eyeing him and stood up.

"I'll wait near the car." Devon glanced back at him and waved before disappearing into the men's room. Dean turned back to the aging librarian who was sitting on the computer table, her legs crossed, skirt pulled up past her knees. He smiled his most winning smile. "Thank you for letting us stay after closing." He said. Maggie waved him off.

"No trouble at all." She answered. "It was my pleasure." Her voice dropped and octave, seductively. "Really."

"I'll see you later." Dean shook her hand and left, pulling Devon's notes into his arms as he went.

Behind him, he distinctly heard Maggie's low growl, "I hope so."

The cool night air hit his face like a breath of life and he sucked it in greedily, glancing around the dark parking lot as he did. The Impala was the only car there, parked beneath a yellow streetlamp. He eyed the old car as he approached, taking in the dusty black body and the mud crusted rims. He needed to treat his baby to a nice long wash and a hot wax treatment.

He fumbled in his pockets for his keys, the notes Devon had made trying to make a mad dash from his cold fingers in the sudden burst of wind that shook the leaves loose on the trees nearby and sent the sparse hairs on the back of Dean's neck on guard.

Slowly, he slowed and stopped next to the Impala, eyes sweeping left and right. He had gone through twenty-two years of supernatural hunting by his father for nothing and his instincts were giving him the funny feeling he was being watched. Turning, he eyed the library. Inside he could just make out Maggie as she picked up the books Devon had left behind on the table. From what he could tell, she hadn't noticed him outside.

Slowly, he unlocked the door and threw the papers into the passenger seat, pulling his jacket over his arms and tightly around himself. What the hell was taking Devon so long and where were those eyes?

He half expected to see something walking out of the shadows. He half expected to see red eyes bouncing around in the dark, coming closer, bringing with it the smell of smoke and death…bring with it his mother's struggling shadow as she tried to break free.

Movement near the library's side wall made his heart clench and he watched it intently. It swayed and bent, twisting in some perverse dark dance as the wind blew against his body and the Impala's open door creaked.

A tickled had started at the back of his throat and soon became a burning pain that rushed up through his throat, chocking off his breathing.

Dean's hands rushed to his throat, gripping the bristly skin there as his breathing died and his lungs refused to suck in any more. Dizziness made him fall, his eyes closed against the vertigo as he tried vainly to pull in precious air past the blockage. The pounding of his heart increased until it was nearly beating from his chest and the sound of a child's laughter in the distance made him sick.

He was dying. The wind stopped, the sounds of traffic fell away and all he could hear was the pounding of his heart beat and the sickening sound of sand streaming from his mouth onto the concrete.

Tears began to fall from his eyes, hot and warm against his cheeks as he fell back against the Impala, the door slamming shut, throwing him face first onto the pavement. With his cheek pressed against the ground he managed to open his eyes and see the bending, twisting black shape imerging from the shadows beside the library. Althoguh he couldn't make out the size he could tell it was a human…a man…

Pressure was building up in his brain, the child's laughter almost deafening. He could hear his cell phone ringing in his pocket and pulled it out, choking. He couldn't read the name on the screen but when he opened it, Sam's voice began calling him. Dean couldn't answer, there was nothing but the rush of sand as it built around his face and covered his mouth and nose. He was dying with nothing byt Sam's worried voice in his ear.

"Dean? What's that sound? Dean! Dean! Answer me!" _Sam help me. _"Dean?" _Sam I can't breathe… _"Dean!" _Sam…_

The world fell away and Dean was lost.

SUPERNATURAL

Devon stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his eyes itching as he stared at his reflection. He was pale and drawn, his eyes rimmed with red, his black hair tangled and frizzy from the amount of times he'd run his fingers through it.

This life wasn't for him and he suddenly missed lazing around Wynn's house, eating her food and watching her television. He'd thought of going back to College but had never got around to it. Keith's death had nearly destroyed his sister. He felt like it was his job to look after her until she was back on her feet…

But what was he kidding himself for? She didn't need his help; he just needed to give himself an excuse not to go back.

He'd never really felt right at college. The world of higher education wasn't really for him, he'd soon found out. What he really wanted to do was be a musician. He hadn't told his sister. She'd never understand…

The creaking of the single closed stall made him look up. The faded red door was moving slowly back and forth as though caught in a breeze, yet there was no source. The room's only exit was the door to his left. There wasn't even a window.

Turning from the mirror, he moved forward, mesmerized by the slow, steady sweeping back and forth as the door arched, the creak lulling him forward. As he reached out to open the door, a steady spraying sound filled the quiet air around him. Curious, yet slightly frightened, he wiped his hands on his pants and pushed it open.

The toilet was overflowing with sand. The golden grains rumbled up from below and spilled like a fountain over the sides of the white porcelain onto the scrubbed blue and white checkered floor.

Devon watched in fascination for a moment before a child's laughter made him jump, spinning around and banging into the stall's door. The lights were flickering and the taps had suddenly come on. The hot water gushing into the sink was creating a misty steam that fogged up the mirror and sent eerie shadows over the glass. Devon watched in horror as a message began to appear by itself across the surface.

**"I am Oneiros, Lord of the Sleeping Marches. I am the Sandman."**

**TBC…**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey everyone! I'm so sorry it took so long, it was inexcusable, I was just lazy and that's the truth. Hopefully I'll have shorter breaks between chapters soon.**

**Anyway, this hasn't been beta'd. I miss you Beta! Need you back! **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and I hope you keep reviewing…**

**One more note, I don't own Supernatural but if I did there would be a lot of shirtless Sam and Dean, that's for sure. OH! And I don't own the Sandman's 'Nicknames'. **

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 13**

_So this is blind panic, _Sam though, leaning into the passenger door of the speeding white Impala. Black trees whipped by as they tore up the highway between Axlynn and Wichita, Wynn like a bat out of hell, nearly ripping up the pavement in her rush to put more and more miles behind them.

Sam had been panicked before. Although years of hunting had taught him to keep cool in desperate situations the subtle shake of his hands and the hitching of his heavy breathing told him he was far from following the lessons of his past. He'd known panic, oh yes, but there was nothing worse then listening to your brother chocking and gasping over the phone while you sat helpless, screaming his name from nearly three hours away.

They'd left Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center minutes after the phone call, Sam screaming into the mouth piece until the phone line went dead and Dean's frantic, terrified gasps were cut off. They'd left everything behind. The laptop was still on, recording EVP, glowing into the stifling darkness of Phil's room. The EMF was still on, spiking every once and a while, its crackling whine falling on deaf ears. A few rock salt guns and Sam's jacket accompanied them. Wynn had insisted on finding her purse until Sam had mentioned Devon's own danger and she'd left that as well.

The situation hadn't hit him fully until they'd been on the road for a solid hour. The only rock salt gun they had was buried somewhere in the back of Dean's Impala. His phone occasionally lost signal out here in the middle of Kansas, they had no money to replenish their dwindling gas supply, no ID to show a highway patrolman if they were pulled over because Sam's fakes were in his brother's car and Wynn's had been in her purse plus they had no weapons to fight whatever was attacking Dean. The situation looked grim.

Opening his phone again, Sam stared through the dark at the weak signal bars in the corner of his screen. "I'm going to try Dean again." He announced, not expecting an answer. Wynn glanced at him, her dark face illuminated by the light from his phone, her lower lip held between her teeth.

"Okay. Then try my brother again." She said. It was the first time Sam hadn't heard the stiff, conceded tone in her voice. Now she sounded worried, unsure, and for some reason that upset him more then her usual insufferable self. "I can't believe he turned his cell off."

Sam opened his address book and quickly paged through the names until he found Dean's. His thumb hesitated over his brother's name, taking it all in. What if Dean didn't pick up again? He needed to hear his brother's reassuringly deep voice one more time. He needed to hear Dean tell him to calm down, quit being such a girl and go back to the center. He just wanted to hear Dean say something, even if it was the eight-year-old's nickname, Sammy. **_Dial Dean_** came up on screen and he pressed yes, watching the scrolling phone number 866-907-3235 flash across the screen.

Again, the rings continued until it hit the voicemail. He didn't leave another message, just shut the phone. It had been an hour. If Dean hadn't been able to breathe before, did that mean he was…?

"What's Devon's number again?" Sam asked but before Wynn could answer the phone beeped and the signal strength was lost. Swearing, Sam threw the phone down beside him and banged his fist angrily against the passenger side window, earning a reproving hiss from the woman beside him.

"Hey! Watch my brother's car!" Sam glared at her, trying to dredge up enough angry energy to snap back. There was nothing though, he was spent. Sam let his head fall sideways until it clunked against the window. How could he have let this happen? He should have stayed with Dean and never let him out of his sight. Dad had always told them to stick together, right? So how could he have…

"Look, I'm blazing here, what more do you want me to do?" Wynn snapped, her hands clenching on the steering wheel. "This car only goes so damn fast!"

"I know!" Sam growled back, turning to her. Her face was now illuminated by nothing except the glow of the headlights coming from the other lane and the moon which mocked them from above. "I know okay? Let's just get to them before it's too late."

Wynn's tortured face turned to his in the darkness. "Before it's too late? Dean was dying, you heard him! Hell_ I_ could hear him and I was standing _feet _away from you! What if the same thing was happening to Devon? What if…" She stopped and turned back to the road, her black hair hiding her face. There was a long drawn out silence and then she spoke again. "What if there's nothing we can do?"

"Dean will find something. He'll get them out." Sam said but the hope died on the way to his lips and the words sounded hollow. No matter how much he trusted and believed in his brother, they were dealing with a force more powerful then they'd ever seen.

Sam had thought the poltergeist in their house in Lawrence a few weeks ago had been strong. He'd certainly believed it when it was throwing him around like a Raggedy Anne doll. This time there was no Mom to save them, no matter how painful her visit. This thing, the Sandman, whatever he was, was the biggest bitch they'd ever seen.

"You don't sound so sure of yourself." Wynn replied, finally looking back at him. A solitary streak of wet skin cascaded down her face and glistened in the light of a passing car. Just like Dean, Wynn's confidence and outer strength it seemed were just a ruse. Everyone wore a mask and finally Sam saw this tough woman's break. When it came to her family, she was just as vulnerable as the rest of them. He needed his own mask now.

"Dean knows what to do." Sam said and this time his words were what he intended. Hopeful. Trusting in a big brother who could be as unpredictable as the seasons one minute and then be clockwork like day and night the next. "Dean and Devon will be alright."

Wynn smiled, hope blazing in her eyes. Sam reached out for the phone again as Wynn turned her eyes back to the road. He was just searching for Dean's number when Wynn's gasped, "Oh my God!" made him look up.

A violent force slammed him against the passenger door and pinned him there. The world outside was spinning violently, trees, moonlight and roadway nothing but glimpses as they passed his line of vision. There was no time for fear or thought as the car spun off the road and into a thankfully open space in the ditch before shuddering to a stop.

Pushing away from the door, Sam stared through the windshield at the darkness beyond, illuminated by the Impala's lights. Ghostly trees loomed up nearby, keeping their distance by mere feet.

Looking around, Sam found Wynn's head down on the wheel, her back rising and falling quickly. He could hear her breathing coming out in violent shuddering gasps.

"Wynn?" Reaching out, he touched her shoulder but she pulled away, swiping out at him like a cat trying to bat a cloth mouse. "Wynn, it's okay. We're okay."

Finally, she looked up, pulling her hair back from her face with trembling hands. "He was…he was in the road." She choked, staring out the front window at the night beyond. Beneath them, the car shuddered and growled with impatient energy, eager to get back to the road. "He was just standing there! I think I hit him!"

Sam turned and looked out the rear window. Beyond the red glow of the taillights, he could see nothing but darkness. "There was someone on the road?" He asked uneasily. "I didn't see him."

Wynn turned to him with shock in her eyes. "Were you looking?" Sam thought about it for a minute. He'd been reaching for his phone and…he hadn't really been watching the road. Wynn took his silence for a 'no' and began fumbling for the doorknob.

"Oh my God, I hit him." She sobbed, pushing open the door and literally falling out into the deep grass on the other side. Sam watched her for a moment as she struggled to her feet before turning to get out as well.

His stomach clenched and his hand halted on the cool metal handle, however, as he was met by a startling vision beyond his window. A white tree trunk pressed lightly out of the darkness, so close to his door it was nearly touching it. At the speed they had been spinning, impact with that tree would have hurt more then just the white Impala's side.

"Holy shit." Sam breathed, fogging up the glass. Behind him, Wynn's strangled scream in the dark made him tear his eyes away from the tree and crawl across the seat to the other door.

"Wynn?" He called, climbing out of the car and out into the grass. He could see her on the highway farther back, looking through the darkness for the person she'd hit. Slowly, so as not to startle her, Sam edged forward. "Wynn? We didn't hit anyone."

"I saw him!" She shrieked, spinning around to glare at him. "He was here! He was standing in the middle of the road…just watching us! He wouldn't move!"

"We didn't hit anything." Sam said calmly, reaching out to grab her wrist. She didn't jerk away but stood there, watching the dark trees on either side of him. In the distance, the Impala continued grumbling into the eerie silence around them. "We would've felt it."

Wynn turned her attention back to him, watching him. There was that fear Sam was so used to. It seemed to haunt him every day, the uncertainty, the confusion. It was the look a person got when they finally realized he and Dean weren't crazy. It was the look they had when they finally confronted the human fear of what lay in the dark.

Often when he was younger, before he'd decided to be a lawyer, Sam had thought of a career in psychology. He was good at helping people through the pain of realization. As Dean and Dad fought off the new evils that would periodically crop up, Sam had sometimes been left with the victims, comforting them with his calm demeanor and cute little face.

Now, an adult with time running out, Sam didn't have the luxury of explaining patiently to the startled journalist. "You knew there were things out there. You knew Keith's death was supernatural and you knew that something was going on." Sam said, pulling Wynn closer with every word until she was pressed against him. Her fingers curled in his shirt and her breath caressed his chest through the thin fabric of his blue tee-shirt. "You heard the EVP."

"But…he was there." She whispered.

"Yes…he probably was. But we didn't hit him." Wynn pulled away but still stayed in his grasp. She stared up at Sam through pleading eyes. "We passed through him."

Confusion. Wynn shook her head and pulled away completely, turning back to the road. "Look, like I said, you knew there was something out there, right?" Wynn didn't answer. "So now you've seen it. It was a ghost." Wynn finally looked at him blankly. "Dean and I go through this all the time. It's different now that you've seen it, right?"  
Wynn nodded. From up the road a pair of lights appeared, illuminating her fearful face. Sam would have laughed if the situation they were in wasn't so dire. They'd now lost so much time since Dean had called, he didn't want to even think about what his brother was going through right that minute…

The car approached and then slowed. Wynn and Sam stepped to the side of the road, waiting until the car stopped beside them and the passenger window rolled slowly down. A woman sat inside, a puff of white smoke escaping into the air in front of them smelling strongly of cigarettes.

She was middle-aged, her graying hair pulled up into a curly ponytail at the back of her neck. Beside her, in the driver's seat, another woman peered at them from under heavy eyelids.

"You two kids okay?" The passenger asked with a thick Texan accent. Sam stepped forward to speak but Wynn beat him to it.

"We're fine." She said, hiding the shaking in her voice beneath false bravado. "We swerved to miss an animal. The car's still working, it's okay."

The two women watched them doubtfully for another moment but the two overly bright smiles beaming at them from the side of the road seemed to settle their resolve. The nodded and took off slowly back up the highway, moving carefully as though watching for more animals ready to jump out and push them from the road as well.

When the second car's headlights had disappeared, Wynn let out a deep breath and turned back to the car.

"If that…ghost…hurt my car, I'll kill him." Sam smiled at the irony of her words and laughed lightly as her beautiful face split into a grin. "I guess that would be impossible."

"Well, you can't kill him but you can destroy him." Wynn wrinkled her nose at him and squinted her eyes in thought. She seemed to be processing something and Sam knew instinctively that she wasn't in the mood for sharing with him. "Come on, let's go."

With one final glance up the road, Wynn relented and followed him back toward the white Impala. Disgruntled by its abandonment the car shuddered and growled louder as they approached.

As Sam moved around the back to see how close the near-fatal tree had actually come, Wynn trailed behind, moving toward her open door with a slow, deliberate pace.

The tree was nearly touching the polished, dirt spattered white paint of the passenger side door, so close, Sam was sure he wouldn't even be able to slide his hand between the tree and the car.

"Sam?" Wynn's shaky voice cut through his sudden, violent mental images of what could have happened. Looking up, he found her standing in the glare of the headlights, her eyes wide as she stared down into the car through the front window. Feeling the sadistic rumble of dread in his chest, Sam moved one leaden foot and then another forward, his hand itching with the need to hold a shotgun.

As he moved around the driver's side door, he saw the fogged up glass before it even registered what it was he was seeing. "What the hell is that?"

The front window was fogged up, like breath against the glass only it covered the whole window completely. Written in large, looping letters across the surface were words, backwards to his sight and hard to read against the dark interior of the car.

"Wait here." Sam said, moving back around the car and climbing into the driver's seat. Now that the light from the headlights outside weren't pressing against his side of the glass, Sam could read the writing in the fog clearly.

"'bE Patient. yoU'll have dReaMS Of me tonigHt.'" Sam stared, taking it all in. "Be patient, you'll have dreams of me tonight." He whispered under his breath, eyes sweeping over the large and small case letters.

"Did the little boy write this?" Wynn called from the front. Sam turned his attention from the words and looked through the clear space in the glass that made up the words. Wynn was looking less nervous, her hand running through her hair as she tried to read the message on her brother's car.

"Little boy?" Sam called. "You said it was a man." Wynn shook her head and waited until Sam had climbed back out of the car before she spoke.

"I said 'He' I never said 'Man'." Sam's eyes unconsciously swept the trees nearby. "There was a little boy standing in the middle of the road." Her eyes fell forward and she pointed to the front of the car.

Coming around the front, Sam's heart skipped a beat. On the front of the car, dark against the night and the white hood was a small, bloody handprint.

SUPERNATURAL

_"Dean, listen to me." _In the blackness around him, the young scared voice nearby was soothing. _"You have to find him. You have to help me find him. He's the bad guy, not me. I'm trying to help." _

Burning pain rushed down his throat, trickling into his chest and into starved lungs. It seared the scarred flesh of his mouth and nose until he wanted to stop breathing again. The world was spinning and the heat of shifting sand against his cheeks was warm and almost seductive.

_"I'm not the bad guy. You are, by hiding him from me. I want to see him. I want to find him, I have to." _The voice was so close; Dean knew that if he opened his eyes, he'd see it. The only problem was his eyes refused to obey his command, just as his body refused to move. The shrill call of a cell phone nearby had been lost and gone silent. It's pleading rings unanswered, although Dean had desperately tried.

_"Please Dean, find him." _The sand was gone and Dean found himself laying on cold, hard ground with only the freezing cold air caressing his face. His mouth and nose no longer burned, his throat no longer ached and every breath was cool and comforting as it swept into his body.

A groan escaped his lips followed by a shuddering gasp, so loud to his pounding ears that it seemed like he was yelling. Whatever strength the Sandman had drawn from him in the attack was returning, and with it anger that pulsed in his veins and made him want to scream.

Hadn't he been through enough? Enough pain? Enough torture? All he wanted to do was sleep without the visions of death and destruction waiting to play across his internal movie screen like they had every night since his mother died…and even worse since his father had left.

Opening his eyes he found himself staring outward at the parking lot, his cheek pressed against the cold black pavement. The library was dark and quiet, inside the figures of Devon and Maggie invisible. The trees swayed in the blackness beside the building and the parking lot lamps cast dim shadows on the barren lot. He was alone again.

Beside him, his cell phone lay closed, so close to his hand left hand he could have reached out and touched it.

He pulled it closer, not changing his position on the ground. He didn't trust anything anymore, not his legs, not what he saw and certainly not his stomach.

The phone beeped as he opened it, the message on the screen telling him angrily that he'd missed ten calls, all from Sammy. There were nine unheard voice messages.

How long had he been down? It couldn't have been more then a few minutes but by the way his body protested as he began his slow crawl to a sitting position, it must have been a lot longer.

Dean leaned tiredly back against the Impala and opened his messages. They were all from Sam and all bore a striking resemblance to, _"Dean, oh my God, what's happening? Are you alright? Dean, hold on, we're coming. Phone me back when you get this." _

What the hell had happened? He'd heard a child's voice in his head when he'd been passed out…seen someone walking toward him in the dark as he'd been chocking on sand…

Reaching up, he felt his mouth and his hand came away clean. There was no sand anywhere, just another trick of the spirit that had decided to use him as its own personal play bitch.

"Dean!" Devon's frantic calls echoed across the parking lot. Dean turned his head, unable to see the library doors from where he was but that didn't matter. He didn't need to see Devon to know how fast the guy was moving, his heavy footfalls across the pavement told the story better then Dean's vision ever could.

It didn't take long for the kid's wild black locks to bounce around the edge of the Impala, face frantic as he crouched down beside Dean on the ground. Behind him, Maggie's own racing steps came slower and more cautiously. An attractive woman in a big city parking lot always had a need to be cautious, no matter how many 'cops' were in that lot with her.

"Dean, what happened? Are you okay? You were lying out here, and the lights were flickering everywhere…and the printers, and the sand…the buzzing…the laughing…" Devon was hyperventilating, his breath coming out in gasps as he tried desperately to suck in enough air.

"Okay, sweetie, calm down." Maggie said, wrapping an arm around Devon's shaking shoulders. She pulled the scared young man tight against her before turning to Dean more calmly then the situation should have allowed.

"Are you okay? We saw you lying out here." Dean nodded and ran a hand across his sweaty face. He didn't feel remotely fine and the prospect of coming up with a good lie to excuse what they saw was daunting at best. Luckily, no lie would be needed.

"The lights…they were flickering, Dean. They were going on and off." Now that Devon seemed a little more relaxed, wrapped safely in Maggie's arms, he was able to pronunciate his words to within a range the two other people in the parking lot could understand. "And…and…and…" He stuttered, eyes darting left and right. "And the printers were printing words all over…"

"Wait." Dean said, holding out his hand to halt Devon's half understandable drabble. He turned to Maggie, desperate to get some sense out of her. "What happened?"

"The lights…" She looked confused and distant, as though this had all been some kind of bad dream or horrible joke. "The lights were flickering on and off and the printers started buzzing but all the computers were off." She turned to Devon who was still in her grasp shaking. "He came running out of the bathroom, shrieking something terrible about sand in the toilet. When I went to look, the lights started acting strange and the printers kept printing off the same thing over and over again."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sheet of white paper. Unfolding it with fumbling fingers she handed it to Dean who stared down at the words scrolled over and over across the page.

**i am The oneiRomancer. i Am Very much the master of dreams. the nIghtmare king. hiS darkness, dream of the endless.**

Dean read the words over and over, not really taking them in. They made no sense. Nothing Sam or he had found out about the Sandman had anything to do with these names, these words. The mystery was just deepening.

"Devon said something about laughing?" Dean asked, closing his eyes against the ache that had begun behind his left eye.

"A kid…a little boy." Dean opened his eyes again and turned to Devon, who was still pale, his eyes large in the orange light from the lamp above them. "It was in the bathroom. And there was writing on the mirror. I wrote it down on the back of that page." He pointed to the printed words still in Dean's hand.

**I am Oneiros, Lord of the Sleeping Marches. I am the Sandman. **"Okay." Dean breathed, folding the page and tucking it into his pocket. "Devon, I need a phone book and a pen." Confused, Devon shook his head and glanced nervously back at the library.

"I'm not going back in there." He gasped, staring at Dean as though he had sprouted a second head.

Maggie patted him on the back and smiled kindly. "I'll go get it honey." She too glanced nervously at the library before her faltering smile grew. "Any excuse to not eat my husband's cooking when I get home is welcome."

Dean smiled despite himself and watched her disappear around the side of the car. "How long was I out here?"

Devon fell back against the car and pressed close to Dean who didn't protest. He just sat there, exhausted and shaky. He was not only unnerved but an unnatural cold had swept over him and set into his bones in the last few minutes.

"An hour or so. We couldn't get out of the library. The doors…they wouldn't open and the windows." He took a deep breath and paused a minute before continuing. "We could see you through the window. It looked like you were having a seizure or something; you just kept shaking and we couldn't get to you."

Dean stared out at the rest of the parking lot, the dark trees holding his hazy attention. Everything seemed different now somehow.

_"Dean, listen to me. You have to find him. You have to help me find him. He's the bad guy, not me. I'm trying to help. I'm not the bad guy. You are, by hiding him from me. I want to see him. I want to find him, I have to. Please Dean…"_

"What do you need the phonebook for?" Dean closed his eyes again and opened his cell phone.

"I need to call someone. I think I know what's going on." Devon said nothing, just stared off into the darkness.

**TBC…**


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: Just a few things to say to you all. I LOVE YOU AND I HAVN'T GIVEN UP ON THIS STORY!_

_I'm sorry about the ridiculously long wait, because it was pretty long…not as long as it has been, but long enough. Anyway, I blame it on moving. I graduated a few months ago and now I'm sitting in my University Apartment, in my half unpacked room, freaked out because I have no idea what I'm doing…although I did call the cable company today and set up more channels (including Space because we can't get CW) just so I could watch Supernatural. _

_As well, I want to thank a few people for this chapter. Liv first because she helped me come up with the idea, and Carocali who beta'd it for me. She's an awesome beta who took time out of her busy schedule to read this and go through it for me, so thank you again! _

_As well, I don't own Supernatural but I love comments about the work I do with it's characters…hint, hint, hint…review! Please. _

_Thanks a bunch! _

_-Ashlyns_

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 14**

By the time they had arrived in Wichita, Wynn's anger had evaporated and a chilly anger had settled into its place. At first, she was shaken, muttering about the spirit she'd seen on the road. Then, as the lights of the city had approached, she seemed to decide that anger was the best way to ward away the trembling of her hands still clenched at eleven and two on the steering wheel.

"What the hell was it doing in the middle of the road? Trying to give me a heart attack?" She growled, pausing at a red light. A young man with red hair hurried across the road in front of them, his pale face and lip ring illuminated by the glowing headlights. His head moved up and down to a beat only he could hear. Sam watched him disappear around the side of a building, sauntering up the quiet street with his hands in his pockets.

It had been too long since Sam had heard Dean's chocking gasps. Too long since Sam had been reassured that his brother was still alive and well, even if the evidence was a voice over a static saturated telephone line.

The library was just ahead. As the light changed green and Wynn's foot came down on the gas, Sam's heart began to barrel roll in his chest. What if they got there and Dean and Devon were dead? He could see an image in his mind of kneeling on the ground next to Dean's lifeless body, wiping away the trickling sand that fell down the sides of his cheeks and mouth.

"He almost wrecked my brother's car." Wynn growled, slamming her palm on the steering wheel. "I'm gonna find that little bastard and kick his see-through…semi-transparent ass! Then I'm gonna take his Casper tail and chock him with it!"

Sam glanced at the woman beside him as they pulled into the library's deserted parking lot. Although she exuded anger, her face was still pale and a fine sheen of perspiration was prickling her forehead below her hairline. She was as terrified as Sam felt, perhaps more so, because she wasn't used to being haunted by malevolent spirits and riding into the throes of peril to save a sibling that may already be too far gone for rescue.

In some ways Sam envied and pitied her. The envy was over her naivety. Although she had some idea that the supernatural world wasn't just for books and the _X-Files_, she still didn't know the half of what waited in the dark with unseen eyes and hungry mouths. She still had no clue of what it looked like to watch someone she loved burn on the ceiling above her and know with her whole heart that it was absolutely her fault, no matter what her brother said.

Yes, Wynn had lost her husband to the Sandman but she hadn't watched him die. She hadn't looked into his terrified, pleading eyes as he silently asked for some idea of what was going on. Why was he there?

The pity stemmed from that very fact. Wynn had no clue, and if you didn't know what you needed to protect yourself against, how was there anyway to fight it? How was there any defense? Yes, there were always some people, maybe one or two percent of the population that knew what was really out there in the dark. Even less knew how to fight it or had the guts to do so.

And so Dean and Sam were always there to save people like Wynn who were just learning, but at what price? How many times had they followed their father into the pits of hell, guns blazing and no idea of what they were fighting or how to kill it? How many times had Sam mopped up blood from the back seat of the Impala with one hand because the other one was wrapped in a makeshift cast? How many times had Dean driven them home after midnight because John had worked himself to the bone with their last case and slept like a baby in the passenger seat? How many times had Sam made dinner for three and been the only one to eat anything?

It was all too often to count the danger, the excitement, and the worry.

The black Impala sat alone and friendless underneath the watchful gaze of a yellow over head lamp. Her glistening body hunched low against the cold and warily watched the approaching car with careful consideration. After so many years inside of her, Sam had begun to think of her as a human and at the moment she looked extremely lonely.

"Where is he?" Sam hissed, opening the passenger side door before Wynn had even pulled the white Impala to a stop. He hopped out, racing forward as fast as his long, slender legs would take him.

Their dad's journal sat on the driver's side seat looking more worn and tattered then ever before. Beside it, Dean's leather jacket was bunched up and resting haphazardly against the passenger side door. There was no sign of his brother anywhere.

"Dean?" Sam called out, slamming his palm in frustration against the car's window. "Dean?"

"Maybe they're inside," Wynn answered, already hurrying towards the library's double glass doors. The building was dark. The floor to ceiling windows along her face were dim and the only light visible was half blocked by a towering shelf laden with magazines. He couldn't see if any one was in the room, only the glow of the lights on the other side.

Wynn reached the doors before he did and pushed against them with all her weight, but they wouldn't budge. Sighing, she pressed her hands on either side of her face and peered into the building.

"They're locked and there are doors on the other side, entering the library. No one would hear us if we knocked." She stepped away and looked up near the roof.

"They have to be inside. I don't know where Dean was attacked." Sam moved off, walking along the tall windows, glancing inside at the tables and book shelves. There was a light on; someone must be inside and Dean had been here only a few hours before.

'_Maybe someone found him and got him to a hospital?' _Sam thought desperately, pressing his hand against the glass as he stepped over a low hedge. _'Or maybe the Sandman took him?' _

A shadow shifted on the other side of a nearby shelf, so slight was the movement Sam barely caught it. Stopping, he pounding with his fists on the glass, hoping for someone, anyone to let him in.

"Hey!" He screamed. "Hey! Open the doors! I need to get in there!" The shadow moved and began coming closer, slowly, cautiously, moving around the tables towards the window. "Hey! I need in! I have to find my brother!"

Wynn was by his side in an instant, screaming too. Their voices jumbled together with the banging on the window to form an off-key drumming. Beneath their busy fists, the glass held strong, neither giving nor pushing them away. It was probably bullet proof…and perhaps sound proof as well.

The shadow inside was almost in the light from the parking lot. Sam squinted into the dark, watching the short form approaching.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" Someone called. Sam and Wynn jumped, both whipping around to see a security guard stalking towards them. He was a small man with a mustache that hid the lower half of his face. His eyes were framed by large insect like glasses that went out of fashion in the eighties and by the way he glared at them, he was on a power trip. "Get away from the window."

Wynn stepped back, watching the guard but Sam didn't move. He turned his head to look back into the library and his heart stopped. In the shadows, his face slightly visible was a child, no older then thirteen or fourteen. He stared at Sam out of blackened eyes which glittered strangely in the orange glow coming from the parking lot.

The guard was yelling something but Sam's eyes remained glued on the boy. The child moved forward a step, his face twisting in a strangely evil smile before he turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the library revealing the missing piece of his skull, just under the messy brown hair at the back of his head.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" The guard growled. His hand clamped down on Sam's wrist and pulled him away from the window. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I…uh…" Sam blinked, trying to get his mind in focus. The apparition he had seen was exactly as Wynn had described the boy in the middle of the road. The question was, was it haunting him or the journalist standing beside him.

"Are you stupid?" The guard hissed, his mustache blowing furiously with anger. "I said what the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm following him around on his rounds tonight. He's a cop." Sam started, glancing back at Wynn whose face was a mask of smugness. She smiled lopsidedly at the guard before grinning fully at Sam. "I'm following him on a story and we got a call from his brother. Said something was wrong here at the library wanted us to come check it out."

"Oh, you're a cop, are you?" The guard sneered, taking in Sam's tanned jacket and ripped jeans. "Well let's see some ID."

Sam fumbled with numb fingers through his pocket and pulled out the first ID that touched his hand. To his dismay, it was a Mississippi State Trooper badge. He flashed it at the guard and then shoved it back into his pocket. In the dim light, there was no way the guard would be able to see anything on its face.

The guard raised his eyebrows in suspicion and then raised his hand to the walkie talkie on his belt. "Please." Sam intervened. "My brother's in trouble. I was nearby; I just need to find him. His car's right there." He pointed to the Impala sitting so lonely in the middle of the lot. "I think he's in the library."

"So you decided to pound on the windows?" The man asked, his hand still hovering beside his walkie talkie. "Even for you, officer…"

Wynn interrupted him. "Don't they have a height requirement where security guards are concerned?" The man, who was at least a head shorter then Wynn, straightened visibly, sucked in his gut, stuck out his chest and opened his mouth the scream at her…

But was stopped by a female voice behind Wynn and Sam.

"Marcus, go bother someone else." Sam turned and found an attractive middle aged woman standing beside the glass doors to the library. In her hands was a bunch of shiny keys glinting in the partial light from the lot. The woman walked forward, her hips swaying seductively as she surveyed Sam and then Wynn.

"I was just making my rounds and I found…" Again the woman interrupted him.

"Look, runt. If I ever need your help, I'll ask for it. Believe me; I've taken guys out ten times this kid's size. I think I can take care of myself." The guard muttered something under his breath, glared at Sam and Wynn and then took off, stalking around the corner into the shadows of the library and out of sight. For a moment in his wake there was silence and then Sam let out a relieved sigh.

"Are you Sam?" The woman asked, coming forward tentatively. No matter what she had said to the security guard, she was still extremely cautious is her approach.

"Yes," Sam answered. "Did Dean tell you?" The woman motioned them forward toward the doors and into the building, locking the door behind them.

"Officer Osborne?" The woman asked over her shoulder. Sam quickly searched his mind for the alias but couldn't remember an Officer Osborne on the list. He simply smiled and let the woman take this as his answer any way she wanted to.

"My brother," Sam answered. The woman nodded and led them into the darkness of the library. Shadows erupted on all sides of them - from tall shelves to round tables cluttered with chairs. Now that he was inside, Sam could see light streaming into the darkness around them from a small office in the back, behind the front counter.

"I called Dean a few hours ago…he sounded like he was in trouble," Sam watched the back of the woman's head, mesmerized with the bounce of her long hair.

"He's okay." She said over her shoulder, leading them through a group of tables. Out of the corner of his eye, in the darkness, Sam saw a tiny flutter of movement…child sized movement but the spirit was gone before he'd turned his head in its direction. "He seemed to be having a seizure but neither I nor his partner could get to him."

"His partner?" Wynn snapped, worry in her voice. " Devon ?" The woman simply nodded and motioned them into the back room.

'_Seizure?' _The word resounded over and over in his head until it was all he could think about.

In front of him was a glowing office, lit by four lamps positioned around the room. The lamps were an older style, with glass bulbs encompassing a single burning bulb. Although they looked like the kind of lamps that were lit with candles, he could clearly see the unhidden cords plugged into the wall.

The desks were antiques, stained black in some places. Devon sat hunched into himself on a couch in the corner of the room, his legs on the cushion pressed against his chest. He was pale and started when the three of them came around the corner.

Sam's eyes ran around the room nervously and swallowed the bile that had been rising in his throat as his eyes rested on Dean. Dean looked tired, pale and drawn but at least he was alive.

The older hunter sat at one of the desks, clutching his cell phone. Open in front of him was a Wichita phonebook, his black, leather bound note book where he kept every case that he'd worked on in the past year.

Sam stopped the librarian in the doorway as Wynn pushed past them, racing to her brother's side. The two of them talked quietly on the sofa, drowned out by Dean's voice.

"…yes, of course I know it's late but we really need this information, it's for your own safety ma'am. Yes. Well, it's not my fault you distrust the police. Yes, you've been very helpful so far, I just need to know a few more things before you can go back to bed."

"You said as we were coming in here that Dean had a seizure?" The librarian glanced at Dean before turning back to Sam.

"We couldn't get to him but it looked like it." At Sam's questioning look she elaborated. "The doors were stuck and he was out in the parking lot. I don't know how long he was laying out there, must have been an hour or so…then the doors opened and we got out."

"The doors were stuck for an hour?" The woman nodded and the shrugged. "What else was happening?" Worriedly, he glanced back out into the dark library, searching for the little boy in the shadows.

"Flickering lights…the printers were going and the boy over there said he saw something in the bathroom." She nodded at Devon, her voice shaking. Sam smiled his thanks at her and moved into the room, taking an empty seat beside his brother.

"Okay, thank you for taking the Wichita Sheriff's Department Annual Survey. It's very much appreciated." Dean glanced at Sam and shoved his note book across the desk toward him. Sam stared down at the white and blue pages. A few addresses, some names, ages and numbers scrawled haphazardly across the page in Dean's quick handwriting.

"My badge number? Why would you want that?" There was a pause. Sam looked up from the page and watched Dean's face relax into a humored expression. "But…it's my first day on the job, please…I know it's late but I couldn't…I didn't…" He smiled at Sam, his tongue between his teeth. Although he was smiling, his voice when he spoke trembled. "Okay ma'am, you have a pen? I am really sorry for this but I'm new on the job…I already said that? Oh yeah…I'm juiced up on java and lost track of…the number? Okay, yeah…" He rattled off a random 'badge' number from the top of his head, spelled out his fake last name and paused. "My commanding officer's phone number? Why…you're going to complain to him? Well," He winked at Maggie who was grinning at him across the desk, her legs crossed; fingers playing with the hem of her short skirt. "Okay, 9…1…1…" Before the woman could reply, he said "Goodnight" and hung up.

Leaning back in his chair, Dean rested his feet on the desk and looked at Sam. "Took you long enough to get here Sammy, you phoned like two hours ago." Sam glared at him.

"I got here as fast as we could but Wynn and I had car trouble. You know, the usual." He gave Dean a dark look which the older brother picked up on immediately. He nodded, sucking on the cap of his blue pen, eyes on the table as his mind teemed behind his green eyes.

"Yeah," He said finally. "We had a little trouble here too." He took his feet off the table and leaned forward, tapping his notebook with his index finger. "But I have a lead on our case."

Sam nodded, trying to take in everything that had been happening but something else kept intruding in his mind. _"Seizure."_

"Dean." Sam's voice fell and he leaned closer to his brother. At this proximity, he looked more flushed then ever. His eyes were slightly over-bright and reflected the lamp light; a tremble in his lips had developed and his freckles were so pale they were nearly invisible. If he diminished any further, he'd be see-through. "That woman said you had a seizure."

Dean rolled his eyes and looked away, shifting as far as he could in his seat as though trying to shift away from the problem.

"Dean, this is getting more serious. This…" Sam glanced at Maggie who was busy talking to Devon, "_thing _is attacking you full-on now."

"It's a kid," Dean answered, playing with his notebook. "I think it's the kid Phil Stiller was trying to save when his ambulance rolled."

Sam's brow furrowed and he touched his brother's arm. Dean didn't flinch, didn't even seem to notice. "How do you know?" He was working things out now. The kid on the road…the kid in the shadows…the child's laughter in his dreams.

"Phil's wife said that the dude had been dreaming about the kid before he went into the center. What if the kid blamed him for what happened and stayed with him, haunting him and finally killed him? Maybe, when Phil had that heart attack and died, the kid was released and his spirit killed those other men…including Wynn's husband?"

Sam nodded. It made sense. Sometimes when spirits haunted a person and the person they were latched onto died, the spirit would become angry and begin haunting the place where he'd been released.

"Okay, so why is it attacking you?" Sam asked. Dean seemed lost for a moment, staring at his hands. Finally, he glanced at Sam and then looked away.

"Maybe it was because I was tired when we went into the center? I don't know." Sam nodded, thinking.

"What about the sand?" He whispered, glancing at the others on the couch. Wynn was watching them curiously, her head tilted slightly to the side as she vainly tried to catch every word of their conversation. "What about the victims? They drowned in sand, that doesn't sound like the MO of a kid who died in a car accident after he'd been shot in the head. I mean…half the kid's head was blown off, he didn't die in a sandcastle building contest."

Dean shook his head, pouting. "I don't know…I just…" He shrugged and closed his eyes, rubbing at them with his trembling fingers. Sam felt a twinge of pity and patted his brother on the shoulder.

"Let's head out. We'll get a motel room and think about it tomorrow." Dean nodded his approval and stood up, grabbing his notebook and chewed up pen. "You got the woman's address, kid's names and ages?" Dean smiled tiredly and pulled a faded red button up shirt over his black tee-shirt. "People are really too trusting."

"It's my charisma," Dean answered, yawning. He walked over to the couch and crouched down in front of Devon . "Hey, you okay?" Devon nodded mutely, his arms tightening across his chest. "Okay, we're going now. You and Wynn wanna give Maggie a ride home?" Wynn glanced at the librarian who was still comforting her brother and nodded.

"Yeah, we'll take her home," Wynn answered. "We'll stay in the city tonight and go home in the morning." Dean nodded and stood up, following his brother out into the main library and through the front doors. As they climbed into the Impala, Sam looked over the steering wheel and saw the little boy standing in the shadows next to the middle window, waving.

**SUPERNATURAL**

The next morning dawned cold and bright. A strong wind had picked up through the night and beat torrents of nickel sized rain down on the roof of the Impala as she purred down a residential street past large brick houses.

Around them, yards were manicured. Women kissed their lawyer husbands on the cheek under black umbrellas in front of the luxury sedans before the men headed off to work and the women returned to their homes for another day of petty gossip.

Dean's forehead rested against the rain streaked glass of the passenger side window, his eyes closed against the gloomy light that seemed overly bright for such a dreary day. He'd turned the music up louder and louder in an attempt to drown out the persistent little voice that attempted to lull him asleep while Sam's urgent voice and gentle prodding kept him opening his eyes every few minutes.

Sam, for the most part, was in a bad mood. He hadn't slept the night before what with Dean's tired pacing, muttering and tapping on the computer keys as he read old newspapers on Google. He found it frustratingly funny how much the roles had reversed in their twisted little universe. It was Sam who was supposed to be having dreams and staying up all sleepless researching their next case while Dean complained and chucked drool spotted motel pillows at him.

"Awe, my teeth feel like they have a year's growth of fuzz on them." Sam muttered, slipping his tongue over his teeth with a disgusted look on his face. "I think we should have bought toothbrushes last night before we stopped at the motel." Dean opened his eyes and glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother. He was too tired to really care where they were going or what they were buying. The Modafinil pills that were supposed to be keeping him awake and alert weren't working like they were supposed to and the constant, bitter ache of exhaustion made him want to cry…

But if he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up and he had two days left until the Sandman closed his eyes forever. Every moment he wasted was a moment closer to death and the fact that he went almost comatose whenever dreams took him over was enough to make him keep his eyes wide open.

"Look, Princess, I think you look fine even without a little Colgate." Sam cringed and turned left down another rich street with brand new cars and sprinklers going despite the rain. "If it makes you feel better, I haven't brushed my teeth in three days."

Sam grinned and nodded. "That sounds about right. And no, it doesn't make me feel any better."

"I have gum in my pocket, if you want some." Sam nodded and Dean groaned, pulling himself away from the window. His head was spinning with the change in position and a dull ache had begun behind his eyes.

Sam watched him worriedly but accepted the gum gratefully when Dean handed him the whole pack. With one hand, the younger Winchester attempted to pop a little piece of green gum from the packet but it simply crumbled into his palm as the tinfoil holding it in broke open. Sam grimaced, glancing at Dean who was smirking.

"Yeah, you think it's funny?" Sam grumbled. Though his tone was cold, his eyes sparkled with humor. He popped the crumbled gum in his pocket and began to chew, throwing the rest of the pack on the seat beside him. "How long was the in your pocket?"

Dean grinned and snatched the gum up, throwing it into the backseat. The smell of mint that was filling the car made his stomach turn. "Three months." He paused for a moment and then added, "My back pocket."

If this bothered his brother at all, the younger man said nothing.

They reached the Podczerwinski house a few minutes later. It was a beautiful three story with wrap around porch and fancy shutters beside each of the windows. Dean straightened up in his seat and watched the house as they approached, carefully avoiding the eyes of the woman sitting in the safety of the overhang above her deck.

She looked to be in her twenties, her dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that draped over the back of the wicker rocking chair where she hugged a steaming coffee cup and read a book. At the sound of their car she'd looked up and was watching them curiously.

Sam reached over his sibling and opened the glove compartment, dropping the cigar box full of fake IDs onto Dean's lap. "Your pick, Sleepy." Dean glared at him and flipped the lid of the box open.

"Oh bring it on, Dopey. I have a whole bunch of embarrassing IDs I could give you." He flickered one in Sam's face. "How bout 'Registered Nurse'? You've always looked cute in those little scrubs."

"Shut up," Sam said, making a face. "Here I'll pick." He tried to reach into the box but Dean slapped his hand away.

"Dude, I got it. You said I could…" A light tapping on the window made them look up, the ID box slipping from Dean's hand and onto the floor. The young woman from the deck was watching them, her face pressed close to the glass. She smiled kindly as Dean rolled down the window.

"Hi," she greeted them, smiling. "You boys lost?" Dean grinned innocently, opening his mouth to reply but Sam beat him to it.

"Are you Mrs. Amy Podcerwinski?" He asked, leaning over Dean to address the woman. The girl's eyes fell on Sam and by the looks of things she liked what she saw.

"No," she giggled. I'm Marta. Amy's my mom." Dean nodded, pulling out the black notebook he'd stashed in the worn tan duffle bag beside him and began flipping through the pages.

"Oh, well, does your mom live there?" Sam nodded to the house over the girl's shoulder. Marta squinted through the rain and nodded.

"Yeah. I stopped paying rent in mine and the landlord got a little mad. Been living with my mom for a few weeks till I get another job." She giggled. "Strippers make good pay maybe I should take a look at the local clubs."

Dean made his usual, perverse "Hey" like he usually did when a hot girl made a lude comment. Marta giggled a little more and then shuddered. "Can we take this onto the porch?"

"Oh my god, I didn't think," Sam gasped, hurrying out of the car. Before he could even blink, Dean found himself alone in the Impala, watching the other two on the porch talking.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered. "I'm living in another universe." Slowly, he extracted himself from the car. His legs felt like lead and the heat that had been creeping over his skin for the last few minutes was ebbing away with every stab of the pounding rain soaking his tee-shirt and jeans.

Abandoning his jacket and red over shirt in the car, he began his slow, pathetic trudge up the cement pathway towards the house's deck where Sam had settled himself on the wood railing facing Marta.

"Well then we're in the right place," Sam smiled, turning to Dean as he made his way carefully up the slippery steps. "Hey, this is the right place; at least she gave you the right information, right?"

Dean glared at his brother and took the empty wicker rocking chair without asking if Marta was done with it. He was finished with pleasantries. His head was pounding, his muscles aching and his eyes felt like someone had tried to gouge them out with rusty spoons. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the strawberry patterned cushion and allowed the rain to pull him under. He could care less about the Sandman or that little shit Travis who was trying to kill him. At the moment, none of it mattered. He just wanted to sleep…

"Dean?" The effort to open his eyes was too much. He just wanted to sleep. "Dean, wake up." Dean attempted weakly to open his eyes but the lids seemed to be sewn shut. The itchy pain in his eyes had lifted and the sound of rain mingled with the cool air caressing his face reminded him of how lovely it would be to just drift off and…Sam sounded scared when he spoke next. "Dean, open your damn eyes!"

Dean peeled his eyes opened and tried to focus his blurred vision on Sam. His little brother was bent over him, face so close to Dean's that his minty breath was wafting over Dean's freezing face.

"Dude!" Reaching out, Dean placed a wet palm on Sam's dripping forehead and pushed him away as hard as he could. Sitting up, he made a circular motion around his body indicating all directions. "This is my space bubble, you hear?" Sam rolled his eyes at Marta who looked concerned. "You step over my space bubble…any part of you comes through my space bubble, I will give you the biggest wedgie you've even had. I may be shorter but I can still wrap your tightie-whities over your head."

"Right. Well then fall asleep, see if I care." Dean leaned back into the rocker and glanced at Marta. If it was possible, she looked even prettier when she (had all) curled up in the chair with her book and coffee. She peered in concern around Sam's shoulder.

"Is he okay?" She asked. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, he's been under a little stress at the department lately. The boss has him running around, doing his bidding…no questions asked." Knowing who 'the boss' was really, Dean allowed himself a small glare before letting his eyes drift closed again.

So, Sam was running this game? Dean listened to the friendly banter taking place between them, all too aware of the hand on his shoulder that continued to squeeze tighter and tighter until there was no possible way Dean would be able to ignore it and fall asleep. The words Sam used, the things he talked about and the ease of which he uttered them were so manipulative it was impossible not to choke on their poison. Sam was a master manipulator, they both were, but the way the youngest Winchester was spinning his tale made Dean swell with pride.

Usually women were Dean's department. From an early age John had set him loose on the fairer sex. John said it had something to do with the way he looked at all women…minus the very young and very elderly. Sam said it was Dean's 'spread your legs I'll take you now look.' John had always taken a more tactical approach in saying it was 'sincerity.' Dean really didn't mind Sam's version

Sam had always tackled the elderly and any one who would fall for his puppy dog look and cute boy next door grin.

Feeling so tired, it was hard to dredge up a sexy look or even get up from the rocker. Dean was glad to let Sam tackle Marta on his own.

The older hunter drifted, letting his mind wander until Marta's quiet voice called him back to the waking world. "Officer?" He opened his eyes. The brunette was crouched in front of him; a friendly smile on her face. "Dean, right? You wanna come in for some tea? You look frozen." Although tea had never been his thing, Dean accepted her offer with a nod and allowed her to help him to his feet. As she led him into the warmth of the house he grinned cockily at Sam over his shoulder. Sam rolled his eyes and followed.

The house was more beautiful on the inside then it was on the outside. Everything was decked out in Asian silks and decorated with Chinese symbols and furniture intermingling with antique European and American styles. Although he'd never been one for style, having grown up in cheap motel rooms, Dean had dated an aspiring decorator and was appreciative of everything around him.

Once they had all gotten their tea - in beautiful willow patterned mugs - Marta led them into the dinning room and motioned for them to sit down.

"Better?" She asked. Dean nodded and blew on his tea, dragging the warmth into his body through his hands. He was starting to regret leaving his over shirt and jacket in the car. "You look sick. Maybe you should take some time off."

"They don't give us a lot of time off at the station," Sam intervened. He cleared his throat, took a sip from his mug and said, "so tell us about your family. I mean, you know, for the department records." He pulled a tape recorder from his pocket and set it on the table, then pulled out an official looking memo pad and sat watching her expectantly.

"Is this about my brother's death?" Marta asked, looking between them. "I mean, you weren't too specific." Sam bit the inside of his cheek.

"Yeah. We've been looking into Travis' case. We were thinking of reopening it; taking a look. It's mandatory after all this time." Sam bluffed, scribbling something on the corner of his memo pad.

"Look," Dean said, leaning forward. He'd been researching the case all night long and hoped that his exhausted mind would remember everything he'd read. "I know the reports said that the shooting was accidental but we want to know everything you think…or know happened."

"Oh." Marta's face darkened for a moment. "Well, it was like, a year ago. But you never forget something like that. I don't think I ever will."

Dean nodded; the memory of holding his squirming brother in his arms while watching his house burn down came to his mind. The fear, the pain, the anger that his Mommy wasn't coming out again…

"I was at home. I'd been fighting with my boy friend and I was sleeping in my old room. Travis was having a sleepover with his best friend, Jose. They were across the hall from me." She began tracing the pattern on the cup in front of her with her finger, eyes filling with tears. "They were reading comics. It's what they always used to do. Mom used to get so mad at them because they left their comics all over the place." She laughed sadly. "Jose used to live next door. He moved away after…the accident." Marta paused and sniffed, her eyes moving from the cup to the patio doors nearby. Beyond the glass, the Winchesters could see a rolling green lawn and an underground pool. "I just heard the shot and found my brother face first on the floor bleeding…"

"And what about Jose?" Sam asked gently. Marta shrugged.

"He was holding the gun, looked scared. Told us they'd just been playing with it." Marta shook her head. "But I don't know. My brother was shot in the back of the head. I thought that if they'd been playing with it, he would have been shot in the front…"

"What about Jose? Was he acting strangely?" Marta looked up at Sam, confused.

"Of course he was! He'd just murdered his best friend." Dean looked at Sam. He knew Sam had been asking under the suspicion that maybe Jose had been possessed or haunted.

Sighing, Dean rubbed his arms where goose bumps had sprung up along his flesh. "Are you a Sandman fan?" Marta asked, leaning forward and placing her fingers on Dean's cold arm. Startled, he looked into her face and found her eyes examining the black ink that was smudged all over his forearms.

The night before, Dean had scrawled the names the Sandman had given them the night before on the first available spot he'd been able to find…his arms. The rain had smudged the ink but the words: 'Oneiros', 'Lord of the Sleeping Marches', 'Oneiromancer', 'Master of Dreams', 'Nightmare King', 'His Darkness', 'Dream of the Endless', and 'Sandman' were still legible…barely.

"What?" Dean asked blankly. Marta smiled.

"Sorry for the change of topic but those names. Man, Travis used to use them all the time. He was obsessed with the Sandman comics; they were his favorite ones…the ones he and Jose used to read. These are the names Dream, the main character in _The Sandman _used."

"Oh, yeah…" Dean stuttered, putting them together. "Yeah, my son is a fan." Marta grinned at him.

"Travis had all of the Sandman comics, even the book that followed up the series. He read it so often he knew it by heart." She offered them a sad smile, devoid of humor. "It was called _The Sandman: Endless Nights. _He always kept it in his desk drawer but the night he died, it went missing. We never did find it." She chuckled softly, teary eyes falling on Sam. "He'd roll in his grave if he knew."

Dean's guts clenched. Maybe he wouldn't roll in his grave…but walk around as a spirit killing people? More than likely.

**TBC…**

Please Review!

_Next time on Enter Sandman…you will get a little more information on the comic book…well, it may be two chapters…lol. _


	15. Chapter 15

_**Previously in Enter Sandman **The story is set between Home and Asylum. The boys followed a lead about strange deaths in a now closed sleep research center called Calvin Oaks. While there, Dean was attacked by the same spirit that killed the patients. After further investigations, they met up with Wynn Dodge, who had lost her husband, Keith in Calvin Oaks. Wynn lives with her brother, Devon, who has an attraction to Dean (then again, who doesn't?) The spirit's name is Travis, a ghost who attached himself to one of the Calvin Oaks victims when he'd died. Travis kills by drowning his victims in sand while they sleep. For further info, go back and read the previous chapters. I suck at overviews. LOL._

-P.S. I'm sorry it took me so long to review. In that time I got a lot of homework done and now work at McDonalds. Sadly, I still own neither Sam, Dean…or McDonalds, but I do own a whole bunch of happy meal toys!

**NOW… (im a dork)**

**Enter Sandman **

**Chapter 15**

Wynn Dodge cracked her knuckles and sat back in her chair, eyes scanning what she had just written with a strange sense of déjà vu. She'd written this article over and over, a thousand different ways, with different bits of information scattered in a uniform pattern, molding it and sculpting it into _this_.

Her desire to come to the bottom of the Winchester's little Carnival of Horrors had pushed her from phone call to phone call, newspaper to newspaper and every bottom feeder and low-life know-it-all in between. Now, reading her article slowly and carefully she found the sense of pride and anxiety she always felt after blowing wide a story of this magnitude.

On the table in front of her sat a large black binder, the covers bulging and belching onto the tablecloth articles, photos, lists and criminal records of Dean, Sam and John Winchester. Although not surprised at the arson and vandalism charges Dean had racked up over the years, she had been startled at the autopsy photos she'd had to worm out of a very nasty St. Louis coroner.

Leaning over the laptop, she flipped open the binder, searching for the black and white copies she'd made at the coroner's office.

_**Dean Winchester**_

_**1979-2006**_

The phone rang somewhere in the living room. Wynn didn't bother glancing up from the photograph of Dean laying on a table wearing nothing but a sheet covering his bottom half. There were a dozen large stitches up the length of his chest and torso from the autopsy. Wynn listened to her brother's hurried footsteps down the living room stairs and across the carpet, as he searched for the missing portable. Its cries were silenced by his deep, "Hello?"

There was a pause. Wynn pushed the autopsy photograph back into the binder and pulled out an obituary for Mary Winchester. Pinned to it with a piece of tape was a second obituary reading Jessica Moore.

"Yeah, sure, just a second." Devon 's wet black curls bounced around his face as he peered around the corner into the kitchen, phone held to his bare chest, right hand's palm covering the mouthpiece. "Some guy named Mike Guenther on the phone for you. Say's he's from Lawrence ."

Wynn reached out her hand, pushing the laptop aside and pulling the binder forward. It scraped heavily along the tabletop, bloated and spewing paper off the side of the table and onto the floor.

Devon sighed and handed the phone to his sister before padding away, casting a dark look at the spilled papers as he went. Wynn watched him retreat before bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hello, this is Wynn Dodge. Mike, right?" There was a brief pause, a release of air and then the man on the other end of the line answered. He had a genuinely deep voice, laced with kindness. As a journalist, Wynn already sensed the difficulty she'd have with him. The kinder the tonality, the tighter his secrets would be kept.

"Yeah, I just got your call Mrs. Dodge. What can I do yah for?" He already had his guard up, no matter how relaxed his voice was. Wynn bit her lip and pulled his brief profile toward her. John and Mike had owned an auto shop in Lawrence and Mike was the one who reported John missing in January 1984.

"Actually, I was calling in regards to the Winchester Case." Her answer met a long pause this time. "Sir?"

"And what would you like to know about that? I've already told the police everything I know over the past 23 years. What more is there?" The gentleness was gone, replaced with exasperation and a hint of desperation. "I mean, they re-opened the case, came to my shop to ask me a few questions and never phoned me back with the answers. Now I got a reporter breathing down my neck."

"They re-opened the case?" Surprised, Wynn searched her papers, confused. There hadn't even been a hint of that in all her digging. When had they re-opened the case? She'd been sure from the reports that it had been hung to dry; completely cold. "When did you hear this?" Wynn paused, hand falling from the paper and onto her lap top keys. Quickly, she began copying the man's rambling, interest peeked.

"Them young detectives came to my shop a few weeks ago, asking about John and what he was like after the accident," answered Mike as if she should have known about the police. "They were asking about some palm reader John had been talking about. I got thinking maybe she had the boys so I looked around but…" He paused, helpless.

"These detectives," Wynn pushed. "Do you remember what they look like?" Mike was quiet for a moment. She could almost see the man squinting in thought, although she had no idea what he looked like.

"They were…" _She imagined a flabby face and squinting eyes…blue, probably. _"They were young and tall, maybe six feet." _He'd have grease stains on his stubbly cheeks and kind laugh lines around his mouth._ "Curious boys." _Probably dull when you go to know him._ "Why? Was it a mistake to talk to them?"

"No," Wynn answered, blinking. "Did they give you their names?"

Over the line Mike chuckled. In the background, a car engine rumbled to life. "I'm lucky if I call out my wife's name in bed, let alone remember the names of two detectives I met briefly a few weeks ago, Mrs. Dodge." Wynn smiled, and was about to ask another question when Mike stopped her. "But…now that I think about it, the one said his name was…Detective Phil…Phil Rudd…uh, yeah, and the other was…ah, um…" He faded out and Wynn waited, typing Phil Rudd into Google.

**Google Search: Phil Rudd**

**Phillip Hugh Norman Rudd was born on ****May 19****1954**** in ****Melbourne****Australia****. He was the ****drummer**** of the ****Australian****hard rock**** band ****AC/DC**** from 1975 until 1983, and again from 1994 to present. ---Wikipedia**

Wynn smirked and shook her head. Dean.

"The other was…Sean…or, wait no not Sean. Shane, uh…Sheldon Para..Para…Sal. Sal Paradise. They sounded familiar. Maybe they've been in the news." Wynn shrugged, eyebrows raising and typed in Sal Paradise's name. It took a moment to find a match.

**Google Search: Sal Paradise**

**This is the world in which Kerouac author takes his journeys that become the material for _On the Road_. Salvadore (a.k.a. Sal) Paradise, the narrator of _On the Road_ and the character identified as Kerouac's alter ego, is a literate keeper of American culture. We become intimately aware of an elusive narrator, but fixated upon the epic hero of the novel, Dean Moriarty (a pseudonym for Neal Cassady, who was also a part of ****Ken Kesey****'s ****Merry Pranksters****). The narrator tells us in the opening paragraph that "with the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of his life you could call his life on the road." Dean is the instigator and the inspiration for the journey that Sal will make, the journey that he will record. ---Wikipedia **

"_And there's Sam," _Wynn thought, reading the excerpt twice. _Trust him to come up with something sentimental._

"So, they didn't ask anything else?"

"Um, there was some palm reader that John was going on about when the boys were little. These guys asked about it but, I couldn't tell them much. All I know is there was a psychic that John hired to look into Mary's death. No good comes outta that. It's shameful, this person using John for financial gain after he'd lost his wife and kids."

Wynn pulled up the Lawrence phone book and began searching for psychics.

"I mean, the lowest of the low. He'd take the boys to see this _psychic." _Mike snorted derisively. "Poor Dean was so scared since his mom's death he wouldn't say a word to anyone and Sammy just kept crying…I phoned social services but they were already gone." The man sniffed sadly and grunted. "I got customers, is that everything you need?"

"Yeah, thanks, Mike, you've been a big help."

The man chuckled. "You're a wonderful liar, Mrs. Dodge," Mike answered. "But I have just one more question." Wynn sighed and rolled her eyes. _I thought you had customers? _ "What about the boys. Do you have anything? Do you know anything? Are they okay?"

Wynn paused. The sincerity and raw emotion in his voice was shocking. "I…uh…" She stared at the pictures of Sam and Dean spread across her tabletop. "From what I know, the boys are fine. They're great." Mike's breath hissed in release and she heard him smile over the line.

"I've been waiting years to hear that," he answered. "Thank you."

Wynn nodded to herself and hung up, unable to say anything. A knot of guilt had settled in her throat and chest, blocking any reply. Maybe she shouldn't write the article. Maybe she should drop it.

Leaning back in her chair, Wynn gathered up the papers on her table and shoved them into the binder just as the psychics of Lawrence popped up in the on-line yellow pages.

Maybe she was being a little over dramatic. After all, it couldn't hurt to have a little more of a look-see…could it?

**El Divino**

**The Mysterious Mr. Fortensky**

**Missouri Mosley **

**Elvis Nduhhuse**

**The Incredible Igor Opium**

**Mark Sweddenheigher**

"Damn."

It took her around thirty minutes to find the one she was looking for. Pulling gently on her black locks, Wynn dialed Mark Sweddenheigher first, then Missouri Mosley. She had a feeling the other four were nothing more then crystal ball scam artists who read tarot and played a little ouiji on the side.

Mr. Sweddenheigher ended up a bust. It was clear the guy had no more psychic ability then a Yorkshire Terrier. He'd offered to read her fortune and then insisted she come down to Lawrence and go out to lunch with him so he could better his 'understanding of the workings' of her mind - what ever that meant. She took it as a hint that he wanted to get to know her with his other 'third eye.'

She had no real hope that Missouri Mosley would be any different, apart (fingers crossed) from the exploration of inner eyes.

Missouri picked up on the first ring. "Hello." There was no intonation, no hint of curiosity. Pausing, Wynn frowned at her laptop, waiting. "Well I don't got all day, Winifred, what can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hi…how did you…"

"You know how, sweetie." Amusement. Wynn smiled despite herself, typing 'Missouri Mosley' into the computer. "If you go to the Lawrence On-line newspaper and type in my name, you'll find a short article about me second from the top. There are a few other Missouri and Mosley together, but they have nothing to do with me."

Quickly paranoid, Wynn glanced over her shoulder at the surrounding kitchen, remembering that movie she'd watched a few weeks back about the creepy caller inside the house.

"Okay, how the hell do you know all this?" Wynn snapped, slightly unnerved. There was a pause and then Missouri answered; her voice calm but with a hint of warning that was impossible to ignore.

"Don't you take that tone with me." It sounded so much like her grandmother it sent a shiver down Wynn's spine. "You called me looking for something, I was making cookies and you interrupted."

"You don't sound surprised. If you're so good, then why did you start making cookies? Couldn't you see I was going to call?"

Missouri chuckled over the line. "Have you ever seen the Matrix?" Wynn shook her head. She had the feeling no matter how she answered, Missouri would know. "This isn't a video conversation; you need to use your voice."

"No," Wynn repeated, annoyed.

"Well, neither have I but the little boy that lives down the street, cuts my grass every week, says I reminded him of the Oracle. You can look that up if you want." Wynn ignored Missouri 's jib.

"Okay, off topic," Wynn said, trying to steer the conversation back in the right direction. "I want to know about the Winchesters. A friend of John's told me you helped John out a few years back. He was going to you for answers about his wife's death."

"I don't talk about my clients," Missouri answered harshly.

'**Local Woman Saves Teenager Lost In Backwoods'**

'_Lawrence, KS- _Missouri Mosley of Lawrence Kansas saved a teenaged boy who crashed on a back road in the middle of nowhere after driving drunk and topping speeds of over…'

There was a picture beside the article. An older woman stared back, her cheeks round and rosy, white teeth flashing warm and knowing in the middle of a dark face. Missouri Mosley was one of those people who you could picture perfectly and never see them in person.

"Look, let's just cut the bullshit, Miss Mosley," Wynn snapped, patience worn away. She'd been jerked around all day and the migraine developing behind her eyes was making her skull pound so hard her teeth ached. "I just want to know when you first met the Winchesters."

"And I told you not to take an attitude with me. If you want answers so bad, I'd suggest finding manners soon," Missouri answered blandly. There was an electric pause. "I met John when he came to talk to me about his wife's death."

Wynn grabbed the old black and white photographs she had bribed out of an old detective with a short skirt and a pair of pouty lips at her disposal. The Winchester 's old two story sat in the middle of firemen and trucks. Half the house was burnt away into a skeleton of charred board and bruised walls.

Shuffling through the photos, she stopped on a pictured of a burned teddy bear, lying in the bushes in front of the house. It had been blown out of the wreckage by the power of the firefighter's hoses; one paw burned to a nub, the face charred. Not knowing why she had paused there, Wynn stared at the photo for a few more moments.

"And what did he say to you? Fire investigators say it was an electrical short in the ceiling."

"I know what they said," Missouri answered coolly. "They're idiots."

Wynn smiled and flipped the pictures. She'd gone through them a million times but this time, three figures in the right hand corner caught her eye. John Winchester crouched in the corner, his right arm wrapped around four-year-old Dean, his other arm gripping baby Sam tightly. Leaning closer, Wynn squinted at their faces. John's was angry, cold. Dean watched the firefighters with curiosity, not really comprehending what was happening. Baby Sam was too small to distinguish.

"Do you really want to bring that all up for them again?" Missouri 's voice was cold as ice. "I know you're not that selfish, Winifred. Is it what your husband would have wanted?"

"You don't know my goddamned husband!" Wynn growled, taken aback by the woman's insight and audacity. "Don't you dare talk about him."

"I can't help you," Missouri said defiantly. "And your lies and deceit are going to catch up with you soon. They will find out."

"Thanks for your time," Wynn quipped, angry at her apparent dead-end. Before she could hang up on the psychic, the phone went dead against her ear. "Damn it!"

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes and she flung the phone across the room. It smashed against the cupboard and fell to the floor in a heap of broken white plastic and wires.

Devon stepped barefoot into the room, rubbing a damp towel through his soaked black curls. "The anger sharks are swimming in my head. You gotta dunk that shit! You gotta dunk that shit," he chanted, smiling at her look of seething hatred. "Anger's the only thing you can't get rid of by losing it, don't you know."

"Go drown yourself." Devon laughed and flung the wet towel at her. She caught it and slung it over the back of the chair beside her, too tired to even reprimand him.

Every time Wynn thought she had a new lead to unravel the mystery of the Winchesters, she'd hit a road block. Her sources either didn't know anything or refused to talk about them. She was beyond frustrated.

"Do you want anything to eat, or are you gonna lock yourself up in your office and starve again?" Devon asked. Wynn shrugged and began gathering up her papers, only glancing back at her brother when the doorbell rang. She watched him pointedly until he finally took the hint. "Oh, please! Do…Not…Get…Up…I got it."

SUPERNATURAL

Sam was tired. His back ached, his head ached, his legs ached…he had achy places that he didn't even know he had. Hoisting the laptop case further up on his shoulder he watched Dean ring the doorbell again. He held the glowing red button down for a few seconds longer each time until finally there was a constant ringing from the other side of the door.

"Dean, that's annoying," Sam barked, rubbing his forehead. Dean smiled mischievously and peered through the glass.

" Devon 's certainly moving faster, though." Finally the door flew open and Devon stood in the doorway, squinting through the sunlight at them.

"I could hear you, you know," Devon said, his voice nervous and tense. With a swift look over his shoulder, he stepped back and motioned them inside. "Wynn's in the kitchen finishing up a story she's writing." He cleared his throat. "But you can…"  
"Where's your shower?" Dean asked, peeling off his coat. Sam watched him blandly, annoyed, Meeting Dean's eyes for a brief moment. Maybe the warm water would put a little more colour into Dean's pale cheeks

"Ah…" Devon looked a little thrown at Dean's tone but recovered quickly. "Upstairs, I'll lead you." Dean nodded, raised his eyebrows at Sam and followed Wynn's brother through the living room, disappearing up the stairs with a dull, carpet muffled _flump _of bare feet and worn biker boots.

Uncomfortably alone in Wynn Dodge's house, Sam made his way to the kitchen, glancing at the photographs and paintings on the wall. Wynn was at the kitchen table, working on her laptop with a cold cup of coffee beside her. Tucked under a jacket at the other end of the table was a binder bulging with papers Sam couldn't read.

"Hey," Sam said as a way of greeting from the doorway. Wynn looked up and gave a tight smile before letting her eyes fall back to her laptop. She looked as tired as Sam felt. "So, I ah…We talked to Travis Podzerwinski's family." Wynn nodded and bit her lip, still typing. "Kid loved the Sandman comics."

"I have no idea what that is," Wynn replied almost coldly, barely acknowledging him.

Sam pulled out his laptop, plugged in into the power connection on the wall and let the old girl boot up. She'd been sitting in Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center for the past 24 hours, capturing EVP while his camera captured video. Now it was time to go through the hours of tape she'd collected before her batteries had died.

"I see you went back for that piece of junk." Wynn's eyes roved over the stickers on the computer's face and the cracks and scratches in her silver paint.

"I couldn't leave her there. Besides, you never know what she picked up," Sam replied watching the computer come to life.

Wynn raised her eyebrows. "'She?'" Wynn asked. Noticing his slip, Sam shrugged and plugged his camera in. Synchronizing the sound he had recorded with the computer and the tapes, he watched the two overlapping images and sounds merge and run in a smooth video projection on his screen.

The static sound of silence played for a while before he heard a brief whisper of Wynn's voice. What he was watching right now was taken before he and Wynn had hauled ass to Wichita to save Dean and Devon from Travis' spirit at the library.

"That is annoying," Wynn muttered, looking at the screen before her.

Sam shrugged, watching the computer. In the green and black night vision glow against Phil Stiller's room, a small white orb slid across the screen. "Well, suck it up, there's more then four hours of tape to go through."

Upstairs, the sound of a shower turning on could barely be heard over Sam's cell phone on the computer's speakers. Sam recognized this moment from when Dean had been choking and called him for help.

"_Hello? Hello? Dean, what are you…Dean? Dean? What's that sound? Dean! Dean! Answer me! Dean! Dean! Hello? Hello? God, Wynn we have to go."_

"_What's wrong?" _

"_Dean! Sounds like he's choking. Let's go!"_

"_But my…"_

"_Leave it, they're in trouble. Come on."_

"_Sam wait!"_

"_No come on!" _

Then there was static noise and the piercing cry of the wind through the broken glass in Phil's room.

Leaning back in his chair, Sam suddenly rubbed his eyes and noticed something lying on the ground at his feet. It was a photocopied police report. Bending down, he pulled it off the floor and keeping it below table level so Wynn wouldn't see.

It was the police report from Jess' death, complete with his witness testimony and crime scene investigation information. Beside certain parts, scribbled in red marker, Wynn had jotted down her own notes and information.

Blood instantly rushed to Sam's head as heat rose up his body to settle in his chest. His heart clenched and a light sweat broke out on his forehead, prickling against the kitchen's cool darkness, throbbing in time with his heart beat drumming an angry beat against the inside of his ears.

"Here," Sam said, handing the report to her. His voice was casual but underneath he was seething. He'd just figured out what Wynn was writing on her laptop. "You dropped something. I don't know what it is." Wynn grabbed it from him and shoved it under the coat with the binder.

"It's nothing," Wynn said wondering if Sam had seen the report. They watched each other for a long hard moment, both criticizing and calculating. Finally, Sam got up.

"I need to go talk to Dean," Sam said, his mind completely cut off from his body. He watched her, wishing her head would pop as the room closed in and the only thing he could see was her face. She watched him with detachment. "I'll be back."

Images passed then, unbidden and unwelcome across his sight. Images of him throwing her laptop across the room or tackling her to the floor and smashing the laptop over her head. Violent, dangerous, startling thoughts that made him reel back against the doorway with a hard _bang. It was as though his balance was being thrown off by the anger rising in his chest. His legs were weak and a tremble had begun in his hands._

He passed Devon who was sitting on the couch with a book in his lap. "I need you to watch my laptop, tell me what you see in the video." Devon nodded but had no time to answer before Sam was off up the stairs.

The sounds of the shower brought him closer and closer to his brother. Dean would know what to do.

'_That bitch is doing a story on us.'_

'_Dean's wanted by the police, they'll know everything.'_

'_We could stop her…how? Damn it, Sammy, think!'_

The taste of blood in his mouth alerted him to his teeth worrying through his lip. Sam realized it was too late by the time he felt the pull of sleep creeping behind his eyes and the wobble in his long legs. Then he saw the water seeping out from under the bathroom door.

As Sam wavered, feet slipping on the last stair, eyes drifting closed from overwhelming exhaustion, he felt a slithering chill replace the heat of anger burning in his stomach.

Travis had found them.

_**TBC….**_

_Man, Missouri is flippin' hard to write!!!! _

_Oh, and thanks goes out to Carocali, my beta! _


	16. Chapter 16

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 16**

**Author's Note: **

**Hey everyone. I am so sorry it's been so long…a few months I believe and you all have permission to kick me really hard in the butt for it. I finished my first year of University and I'm now in my second. That was one reason why it took so long to get this chapter done. The other reason was I recently had surgery to repair my upper jaw which had grown a little too small so I had it broken, widened and moved forward. Needless to say, with my jaw wired shut, it was too hard to write. **

**Anyway, now that I've gotten my excuses out of the way, I'll recap important things that have happened in my story just so I don't get more reviews saying you don't remember stuff. **

**Enter Sandman is set between Home and Asylum.**

**In chapter one Dean had a dream about when he was little he saw the demon that killed his mom. He blames himself for his mom's death because he believes the dream is real and he should have said something to his mom. Wide awake and unable to fall asleep again after the dream, he finds a news article on the computer about a rash of mysterious deaths in Axlynn, Kansas . Patients at a sleep research center have died in their sleep with looks of fear on their faces and sand in their mouths, eyes and noses.**

**They arrive in Axlynn which is practically a ghost town. They find the house of Wynn Dodge and her brother Devon Cameron. Wynn is the one that wrote the article about the deaths. Under the guise of Doctors, the boys get all the information they can from Wynn while Sam delights in the fact that his clueless brother hasn't noticed Devon's sexual interest in Dean.**

**The boys find out that Wynn's husband along with six other men in the center were the victims of the mysterious death. Each had a different sleep disorder and the only connection any of the men had besides the center was that they were all staying in the same wing of the hospital.**

**While investigating, the only room that had EMF was one belonging to a man named Phil Stiller who had died of a heart attack a week before the other men were killed. While inside Phil's room, Dean gets tired and falls asleep, attacked by the mysterious thing that killed the other men.**

**The boys continue to investigate the various incidents and learn that Phil was a paramedic who was unable to save a young boy - Travis Podzerwinski – after a tragic accident with a handgun. The boy blamed Phil for his death and haunted him until Phil finally died. Now, the Sandman has latched himself to Dean and he only has a few days left to break free from his spell.**

**In the meantime, Wynn has discovered that Dean 'died' in St. Louis and has decided to write a story on the boys. Sam finds out and races to tell Dean, only to come face to face with the Sandman himself.**

**-Originally, this recap was longer. Thanks to Carocali for cutting it down by…two pages. **

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 16**

Sam opened his eyes slowly, testing the burning itch in their corners and down his cheeks. At first, with his face pressed into the beige carpet of the upstairs hallway, his confusion made him think he'd tripped and fallen over his own two feet. Then, as the fog lifted, he realized what had happened.

Travis had attacked him.

The child's ghostly touch was gently caressing his forehead, forming a halo, lifting when the gentle fingers found his eyes. As the fingers evaporated, a sick chill ran down his spine and into his stomach.

Sam couldn't move.

Staring down at the recently vacuumed carpet, Sam desperately tried to focus on his arms, legs…anything that would yield to his brain's commands for some type of voluntary movement.

In the kitchen downstairs, Devon and Wynn's voices seemed distant and far away, nearly drowned out by the screaming of his brain. He mentally called to his feet and hands, trying to get them to make some sort of motion, but it was no use.

Hadn't they heard his body hit the carpet? Judging by the pain in his knees and chest, he'd hit the floor hard enough to make a loud bang that would have shaken the house. Why weren't they racing upstairs to see if he was alright? Why hadn't they even called to make sure he was okay?

Unless they really hadn't heard him…

Still struggling to control his paralyzed limbs, Sam let his eyes drift upward, searching his surroundings for something that could help. Directly in front of him, the bathroom door gushed steam under the wide doorframe.

Sam blinked and blew at the tendrils of hot steam breathing pouring over his face, leaving a wet sheen on his tingling cheeks. As the watery smoke cleared, a figure lying beyond the bathroom door, face down on the floor, began to emerge.

Sam could see half of Dean's face under the wide crack between the door and the floor. His brother's eyes were open and staring, his cheek pressed hard against the black and white tiled floor as he watched his brother lying beyond his reach in the hallway. The water-heavy orange bathroom lights eerily misted against Dean's brown hair, making it look almost red.

"Dean." Sam managed the miniscule croak but the moment the whispered word had passed his lips, the tickle of sand in his throat made him cough violently into the carpet. Beneath him, Wynn and Devon's voices continued to murmur in quiet discussion.

Dean was only able to blink in response and a fine trickle of golden sand spilled from his eyes and caught in his eyelashes. He blinked again and the dusty grains melted onto his cheeks.

"Dean," Sam whispered, trying to ignore the painful twinges of another coughing fit threatening to tear away at his throat again. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean blinked and instead of sand, tears began to well in his eyes. He opened his mouth to answer his brother but the only sound that escaped his trembling lips was the hiss of sand flowing from the corner of his mouth, painting the black and white tiles beneath him yellow.

Sam choked, clearing his throat of the next barricade threatening to block his voice. "Can you move your body at all?"

Dean blinked and a single tear slipped down his cheek. His hand, lying at his side, twitched.

"Dean, I can't move." Sam's voice failed him again, reaching his mouth in a harsh croak that had nothing to do with the tingling sand shifting in his throat. He had to find a way to reach his brother. "Can you try? Please?"

Dean blinked again and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Did you see him, Dean? Travis? Did you see him when this happened?" Dean blinked in answer, abandoning his brother's face to search the bathroom around him.

Sam cleared his throat trying to grab his brother's attention again, however, a pair of small, bloody feet stepped into view on the other side of the bathroom door.

Sam froze, watching the feet as they moved along his brother's body until they reached his chest. For a fraction of a second the feet didn't move and then slowly, a pair of hands joined them. The feet slid wetly across their own bloody trail, allowing room for knees and then finally the child's face.

Travis peered at him under the door, his black eyes catching Sam's and holding them. Travis crouched down, watching Sam with a silent fascination for a long moment before he turned his head to whisper to Dean. Trapped and motionless, Sam could only hear the low hum of Travis' voice.

And then he was gone, leaving Sam and Dean to stare at each other, separated by nothing more then a flimsy door and the waft of steam billowing over Sam's face.

"Hey," (Sam said, catching Dean's drifting eyes again. "Are you okay?" Dean blinked and then whispered through immobile lips a barely audible "_Yeah_."

The moment Dean's hushed voice met Sam's ears, he felt the tightness in his muscles ebb like he had been freed from a spell. Slapping his palm firmly against the carpet, Sam pushed himself off the floor and tipped over backwards, realizing too late what was about to happen. He tumbled down the staircase into the living room as a child's laughter floated down the hallway…

SUPERNATURAL

"SAM! OH MY GOD, DON'T MOVE!" Wynn cried in a shrill, panicked voice. "DEVON, CALL 9-1-1 ."

"Sam?"

Devon's voice was a little calmer, and off to Sam's right. He groaned, trying to lift the fog in his brain. He remembered vaguely lying on the floor, watching Dean through the crack in the bathroom door. He also remembered the paralysis that had gripped him, pushing him into the upstairs carpet.

The rest was a blur.

Opening his eyes to slits, Sam was able to barely make out the living room and the two shapes of Wynn and Devon hovering over him. He couldn't figure out how or when he'd managed to make it back downstairs. Even stranger still was the fact that he was now flat on his back instead of immobilized on his stomach.

Carefully, Sam shut his eyes again and concentrated on moving his toes, feet and finally his legs. When he realized the stabbing pains in his shins and ankles meant he wasn't paralyzed, he proceeded to move his other limbs.

"Sam, try to relax. You could have broken something." Wynn sounded scared and breathless. "Devon, why haven't you called 9-1-1?"

Devon took in a deep breath to retort, but his voice was caught up short by a painful hiss from Sam. "Okay, I'm going."

Sam opened his eyes in time to see Devon's body move out of sight. Groaning, he pushed Wynn's frantic hands away from him and sat up fully, assessing the damage.

"What happened?" he croaked, coughing at the scratchy grinding his throat made against his voice. Wynn's ashen face glanced up the stairs briefly and then steadied on Sam's face. Behind her grey eyes there was shame and fear mixed with anger. He'd never seen her eyes so alive before and was shocked when he wasn't met by cold indifference.

"You fell down the stairs." she said, her voice as raw as his. "I don't know why. You walked out of the kitchen…" She hesitated; her betrayal heavy in her words. For a moment she looked as though she had lost all ability to speak but then she continued. "You told Devon to watch the video on your computer. We heard you going up the stairs but when you reached the top you fell down."

Sam's breath caught. He'd fallen the moment he'd reached the top? But then that meant he'd never seen Dean through the gap under the bathroom door. That meant Dean was still lying up there, alone and scared…

Sam leapt to his feet and glanced back at Devon who was still on the phone with the emergency dispatcher. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sam bound up to the second floor, pausing at the bathroom door.

Steam and water were flowing out from under the door and collecting on the hall carpet. "Dean!" Sam screamed, jiggling the knob. The door was locked.

Wynn had joined him at the top; Devon trying to peer over her shoulder, still standing on the stairs behind his sister. "Sorry, guys," Sam said, looking back at them. "I promise I'll fix this door." Leaning away from the wood, he slammed into the barrier with all his might, trying to shoulder it open.

The door frame creaked in protest but didn't release. Taking a deep breath, Sam tried again and was met by indignant shrieks from Wynn and a splintering crack as the doorframe broke apart and the door swung part way open.

Dean was lying on his stomach on the bathroom floor, blocking the door from opening all the way. Water continued to flow from the tub and gushed over the sides onto the floor, soaking the eldest Winchester's jeans and bare torso.

Sam managed to wedge himself into the room and sunk down beside his brother, pulling the still man into his arms. Wynn followed Sam, squeezing inside, shutting off the water before more damage was done.

Dean's eyes were open and staring. As Sam leaned over him, his eyes flickered onto his brother's face, green pleading with brown.

"Hey Dean," Sam said, looking up to see Devon's head sticking around the broken door frame. Sam looked back down at his brother in time to see him blink. "You have to move, a finger or a toe or something. That's the only thing that will lift the paralysis."

Dean blinked again and Sam lifted him higher into a sitting position. Dean's eyes swept over his body before resting on his toes. "That's it, come on," Sam encouraged.

Dean made a strange sort of gulping sound, still staring at his motionless feet. For a few seconds there was silence and then suddenly Dean's muscles tensed up in Sam's arms and he pulled away.

Folding his legs up to his chest, Dean leaned his elbows against his knees and rubbed his eyes, moaning into his hand. "I hate that kid."

Sam smirked, at last noticing the heat of the water soaking into his own jeans. It was as though his body was finally waking up after being numb. All Sam had needed was to hear Dean's voice again and be reassured.

"He had me, too," Sam whispered.

Dean looked up, blinking rapidly. His eyes were red. "I know," Dean answered.

Sam blinked in surprise. They'd had the same dream? Before he could ask for details, Devon's voice piped up from the door.

"Uh, guys?" Sam and Dean turned in unison, looking up at the frightened young man in the doorway. "What does that mean?"

Sam slid away from the counter and looked up to where Devon was pointing. In the mirror, written in blood in the foggy glass were the words: **Syad owt ni niaga uoy ot emoc lliw I**

"Is that even a language?" Devon asked shakily.

"It's backwards. Mirror image." Sam answered.

"It means we'd better hurry up and find a way to beat this son of a bitch," Dean answered. He caught Sam's eye. "We have two days."

**TBC...**

**-I promise, I'll try and update faster next time. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and especially Carocali who helped me correct my many errors. **


	17. Chapter 17

Hey everyone! Yeah, I'm back…not sure I'll have any readers anymore after such a long break between chapters but no matter what I am determined to finish up this story and the other ones I have on the go. I'm on break from school. I just finished up my second year of film production and it's a blast…and a lot of work. I'm not working in the film industry this summer but I do have a full time job.

So, for all of you who have bared with me and are actually going to read this chapter, here is a recap of what has happened so far and where we are at:

_The story is set between Home and Asylum (I started it after asylum, I think…so long ago…)_

_In the first chapter, Dean had a dream about when he was little he saw the demon that killed his mom. He blames himself for his mother's death because he believes that the dream was real and he should have said something to his parents. Wide awake and unable to fall asleep again after the dream, he found a news article on the computer about a rash of mysterious deaths in Axlynn, Kansas. Patients at a sleep research center had died in their sleep with looks of fear on their faces and sand in their mouths, eyes and noses. _

_They arrived in Axlynn which is practically a ghost town. They found the house of Wynn Dodge and her brother Devon Cameron. Wynn was the one that wrote the articles about the deaths. Under the guise of doctors, the boys got all the information they could from Wynn while Sam delighted in the fact that his clueless brother hadn't noticed Devon's sexual interest in Dean._

_The boys found out that Wynn's husband along with six other men in the center were the victims of the mysterious deaths. Each had a different sleeping disorder and the only connection any of the men had besides the center was that they were all staying in the same wing of the hospital._

_While investigating, the only room that had EMF was one belonging to a man named Phil Stiller who had died of a heart attack a week before the other men were killed. While inside Phil's room, Dean got tired and fell asleep, attacked by the mysterious thing that killed the other men._

_The boys continued to investigate the various incidents and learned that Phil was a paramedic who was unable to save young boy - Travis Podczerwinski – after a tragic accident with a shotgun. The boy seemed to blam Phil for his death and haunted him until Phil finally died. Now, the Sandman had latched himself to Dean and he only had a few days left to break free from his spell._

_In the meantime, Wynn had discovered that Dean 'died' in St. Louis and had decided to write a story on the boys. Sam found out and raced to tell Dean, only to be attacked by the Sandman himself. He broke free and rescued his brother. Travis left a threatening message on the mirror, written in blood telling the boys that they only had two days left. _

I hope that helped catch everyone up. Here's the next chapter:

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 17**

Dean sat on the couch in Wynn's pristine living room. His wet hair clung to his forehead and dripped sluggish beads of cold onto his shoulders, managing to worm under the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Across the room, Sam talked in a hushed voice to Devon who was still talking to the emergency dispatcher, assuring her that Sam was fine from his tumble down the stairs and they were planning to drive him to the hospital instead of waiting for an ambulance to arrive. The young man still looked extremely spooked, his face ashen in the cold blue light coming in from the window.

Dean shifted his hands under the blue blanket, brushing his fingers over the loose flannel shirt Wynn had dredged out of the bottom of her closet. It was her dead husband's and, despite the close relationship Dean had with death, it still gave him the creeps.

He was chilled and it had nothing to do with his damp skin or the creeping feeling of Sam's worried gaze that wandered frequently across the room to fall on him. It was Travis, and the little bloody words he had scribbled on the bathroom mirror. He was coming, in two days, and so far the little dead bastard had the upper hand.

Across the room, Devon hung up the phone and worriedly stared up at Sam who placed a comforting hand on Devon's shoulder. "Hey, everything is going to be okay." Sam said quietly. Dean knew that voice because he had heard it frequently the past few months. "Look, Devon, can you go into the kitchen and keep watching those tapes. There has to be something on there that we can use."

Devon nodded and, keeping his gaze averted from Dean's, went into the kitchen. Dean heard the scrap of the kitchen chair followed by the faint hiss of computer static. Sam watched him out of sight and turned to Dean who sighed and let himself fall sideways onto the couch until he was hunched in a ball among Wynn's flower patterned pillows.

"One, two, Freddy's coming for you…three, four, lock your door…" Dean muttered in a sing-song voice. Sam sat down on the arm of the couch and looked down at his brother.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. Dean closed his eyes. He was too tired to talk about anything. Sam, like usual, couldn't take the hint. "There has to be something we missed."

"Of course there's something we missed." Dean answered, his voice muffled by pillows. He felt, rather then saw, Sam shrug.

"I can't figure it out. There's a connection we lost. It's out there, somewhere." Something small and cold touched Dean's cheek and he opened his eyes. The amulet was hanging from Sam's fist, the cool metal touching his face. Dean pulled his arm out of the warmth of the blanket and grabbed the necklace from his brother's grasp.

"Where did you get this?" Dean asked, sitting up. He pulled the charm safely over his head and back onto his neck.

"Wynn found it on the counter in the bathroom when she was cleaning up the water. She gave it to me. I thought you never took it off." Dean shook his head, his eyes traveling to the stairs and the upstairs landing which was lit by the orange light coming out of the empty bathroom and spilling out into the hallway beyond.

"I don't." Dean said.

"He's getting stronger." Sam sighed and slid down onto the couch beside Dean. Dean glanced over, annoyed. He had been planning on laying down there again. "There's something else I need to talk to you about." His voice had dropped lower, more intense, and Dean felt warmed by the familiarity of the situation.

"Can it be told at a decibel fit for human ears?" Dean asked. Sam looked at him, confused. "You're doing that intense, quiet-talking-voice-thing again. If you're trying to calm me down it's not working. It's just making me more nervous."

"Sorry." Sam whispered. He glanced around and Dean followed his gaze. Devon was in the kitchen still and Wynn was downstairs, drying Dean's clothing. Sam motioned for Dean to follow him and made his way across the room to the front door.

"Oh, no, man. I'm cold." Dean whined. Sam sighed and raised his eyebrows. Finally, knowing his brother was probably right; Dean grudgingly pulled himself off the couch and made his way across the room, wrapping his blanket closer around his shoulders.

They stepped out into the front yard, Dean's bare feet slapping gently against the sun warmed concrete. When Sam had shut the door, Dean's eyebrows rose and he stared at his brother.

"Okay, I don't know how she knows but she does." Dean, confused, raised his eyebrows.

"Who knows what?" Sam put his hands in his pocket, his shoulders hunched as he stared off up the street.

"Wynn." He said. Dean's stomach clenched. "Wynn knows. She's doing a story on us. I found papers and stuff that must have fallen on the floor. I picked one up and read it. It was about Jess. It was a newspaper clipping from the paper with her obit." Dean felt bile rising in his throat. He didn't really like Wynn…in fact, he knew she was a mega bitch but this was something he hadn't expected to deal with. Not after everything else they had been dealing with lately.

"What do you want to do?" Dean asked. Sam's eyebrows knitted together in a very familiar puppy-dog expression. This time, though, he wasn't trying to get his way. He looked lost, and his brown eyes refused to meet Dean's.

"I don't know." Sam answered. "We have to bring her down. No one can know about us…what we do." Sam nodded.

"Okay." He said quietly. "Okay." They stood for a moment, quietly. The town's deserted streets echoed the barking of a dog a few streets down. The silence stretched until the front door of the Dodge house opened and Wynn was poking her head out the door. Dean felt a surge of hatred but chocked it down, keeping his face as impassive as possible. His attempt obviously hadn't worked too well because it was Sam who spoke first.

"We'll be in in a minute, we just needed to talk." Wynn nodded, keeping her face as passive as possible. She reached out the door and handed Dean a pile of clothing.

"It's okay. Just wanted to give you these. I dried them." Dean smiled thinly and took the clothing. Without another word, Wynn closed the door.

"We should get you dressed and head back to the motel. Look through our files. Once we save you, we'll go after her." Dean nodded. "Hey, Dean." Dean looked up. His brother was staring at him intensely now. "What did you see, when Devon attacked you? I mean, in the bathroom when you managed to come out of it, you said that you had known I had been attacked too. How?"

Dean felt the heat rise in his face. He keep his eyes averted, trying not to let his brother see his weakness. He knew Sam was uncomfortable with his small doses of control. Over the years on the road, Dean had always been in charge when their father wasn't. Sam had never had to worry about Dean, knowing his brother was in control. Now it seemed like Dean was losing it and Sam was beginning to pay for his weakness.

A thread on his newly dried shirt caught his attention. "I saw you." He said. He saw Sam shift his weight from one foot to the other. "Under the door."

"I saw you too. Somehow, we connected Dean. We had the same dream. When Travis attacked us, we connected." Dean nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Travis whispered it to me, when you were lying outside. He said he had you too. There was something wrong though, Sam. There was something not right about it." Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I broke away a little too easily." Sam sighed and leaned against the wall. "He has trouble holding on to both of us."

"Maybe that's his weakness." Dean said quietly. He finally let his eyes drift up to his brother. "He seems to have a hard-on for me though." Sam smiled slightly. He seemed comforted by Dean's attempt at humor. Suddenly, Dean felt a little bit better.

**SUPERNATURAL**

Devon sat in the kitchen, sipping on a mug of tea that steamed beside him. He was shaken by what had just happened upstairs and the fear that he felt made him jumpy…that, and the video from Phil's room taken the night before. It was eerie, the darkness pierced by the strange green glow of bugs that flew by and the flapping of the soiled curtains hanging in the broken window.

He sat back in the kitchen chair and looked over his shoulder. Sam and Dean had stepped outside to talk and his sister had moved upstairs again, probably to try to clean up the rest of the water on the bathroom floor. She had handed Dean his dried clothes and then quietly left. There was something going on between the three of them, he knew it. The tension was so strong he could almost cut it with a knife.

Whatever he had walked into the middle of, it was something he had never prepared himself for. Ghosts were real? He had suspected but he'd never thought that he would get proof. When his brother-in-law had died, he'd moved in to look after his sister. Now it seemed now that he was the one who was going to need looking after…and after what he had just seen with Dean, maybe a new pair of shorts too.

Groaning, he leaned on the table and continued staring absently at the screen. It wasn't until the shape of a man, fully formed by the window, caught his eye, that his attention came back to the screen. He stared, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest, it drowned out the sound of the hissing computer speakers.

Shaken, he watched faintly as the shape moved across the room and leaned down, his eyes staring into the camera. The video hissed and bounced like a tape that was coming off its track. The man in the camera was solid, real, but his eyes didn't glow like a person's usually did when captured in night vision. They were dull and black.

"He didn't kill me." The voice was hollow, echoey and haunting. Devon stared, horrified, captivated by the face that watched him in the darkness of the computer screen. "The child didn't kill me." Devon didn't know why, but he nodded to the screen. He had a vague idea of the situation revolving around Travis and the deaths at Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center.  
"I dreamt about him, for so long. I had a heart attack." The computer fuzzed out for a moment and Devon blinked. He couldn't move and he barely dared to breathe. When the image re-materialized, the face was still there, staring at him. "I died. I set him free. Find the Sandman. He wants the Sandman."

"What Sandman?" Devon whispered fearfully. It seemed impossible that the man on the screen could get closer, but he did.

"The Sandman. The answer lies in the Sandman. Don't let him fall asleep." Suddenly the man was gone. Devon blinked, staring at the screen. The room was empty; the only movement was the flapping curtain in the dark.

Devon leapt from his seat and raced through the kitchen. He flung himself into the living room, lightheaded from fear, and ripped the front door open. Sam and Dean turned as one, startled, and came face to face with Devon.

"You have to see this." Devon choked out. He couldn't say anything else. His throat was closed and his vision was tunneling. He didn't know what he had seen, exactly, but he knew Dean would know what to do.

The two men followed him wordlessly into the kitchen. Sam took Devon's seat at the computer and began rewinding the footage. The room on the screen was empty. There were no glitches, no man staring with black eyes into the screen…

Devon stared, horrified as Sam continued to rewind. After a few minutes he stopped and looked up at Devon, confused.

"I saw it." Devon said, unable to hide the panic in his voice. He looked over at Dean who looked exhausted and pale. "He said 'Don't let him fall asleep.'" Dean glanced over at his brother quickly before his gaze settled once more on Devon.

"Who said that?" He asked.

"He was never there?" Devon ignored Dean's question, his brain going into overdrive. He turned back to the computer and began scrubbing through the footage. There was nothing there. "Oh my god, he wasn't on the screen." He felt faint.

"Okay, sit down." Dean said behind him. Suddenly, Devon found himself sitting, his head on his arms, leaning on the table.

"Oh, I think I'm freaking right out." Sam's arm clamped down on Devon's shoulder. "Oh, I'm really freaking out."

"No, you're not freaking out." Sam said. "Devon, I need you to tell us what happened."

"I saw him on the screen. He was right there." Devon lifted his head and looked at Sam. "He said he let the child go free…not to let Dean go to sleep…and he said something about finding the Sandman. You need to find the Sandman."

**TBC…**

**Thanks for reading. I'll respond to your reviews. Hope you stick with me. I know I've said this before but I'm going to try to get my next chapters up as quickly as possible and finally put an end to this story. **


	18. Chapter 18

Hey, thanks everyone for reading and especially to everyone who reviewed. I promised I would update this story quickly and so here it is, the next chapter. Enjoy!

**Enter Sandman**

**Chapter 18**

"We need to find the Sandman. Yeah, that's easy." Dean said, lying back on the motel bed. Sam sat across the room at the computer, staring intently at the screen. Although he couldn't see what his brother was looking at, he knew it was important. Although, Sam usually ignored his brother…

"Sam, look. Maybe we should call dad. Just try him again, maybe he can figure out something."

Sam didn't even glance up, just kept scrolling through the webpage he was perusing. "You can try, if it will make you feel better." Dean let his head fall back on his pillows and stared up at the ceiling. He knew his father would never answer. He didn't when Dean had phoned him in Lawrence; there was no reason to think he would now.

"No, it won't." Dean muttered. He heard Sam's fingers speeding over the laptop keys.

"Then shut up and let me concentrate." Sam answered. Despite how coolly he said it, Dean could hear the concern underneath. He clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes against the dull blue grey light flooding in through the picture window.

In his mind he could hear the child's laughter, faint but still malevolent. He thought about everything he had seen and heard the past few days. Phil, the ambulance driver, had been trying to save Travis' life in the back of the ambulance when they had been hit by a truck and flipped. Phil had gone into a coma and Travis had died from the gun shot wound to his head.

In his coma, somehow, Phil must have sucked Travis' spirit into himself. That, or Travis somehow latched on. It seemed that Travis had blamed Phil for his death, as if Phil could have helped what happened to the ambulance or who had hit them…As Sam said, spirits didn't see in shades of grey, only black and white. Travis had latched onto the first person who had been there when he had died.

And when Phil had woken from his coma, he hadn't known there was a child's ghost following him around, giving him nightmares, plaguing him with the bad dreams that haunted him in his waking and dreaming world. And then Phil had checked into the Calvin Oaks Sleep Research Center, he had condemned the other patients in his wing too.

Sam had said Phil had died from a heart attack, probably from an intense nightmare. When he had died, he had released Travis who roamed freely around the wing and eventually killed the other patients.

And then Dean had walked in, tired and weakened from nightmares of his own, allowing Travis to latch onto him. The question that Sam seemed to tiptoe around was why it had latched onto Dean and not his brother. Sam was the one who seemed to be having trouble sleeping and, although Dean had his fair share of nightmares, Sam was the one who woke up screaming…and dreamed things that hadn't happened yet.

He kind of felt sorry for Travis, at least his human side did. His hunter side, however, wanted to bring the little bastard down.

Dean didn't realize how close he was to falling asleep until Sam's hands were on his shoulders and he was shaking him violently awake. Dean's eyes flew open and his body jerked painfully awake, heart hammering in his chest.

"Jeeze, Dean, you have to stay awake." Sam's voice was taut with fear, his fingers digging painfully into Dean's shoulders. Dean rubbed at his face, fighting away the painful itch behind his eyes.

"I'm awake." Dean gasped. Sam let his shoulders go and stared at him. Dean nodded, trying to convince himself more then Sam that everything was going to be okay. "I was just sleeping, I wasn't thinking…I mean, I was just thinking, I wasn't sleeping."

"Yeah, sure." Sam reached over and pulled open the drawer in the beside table. He rummaged around, pushing their father's journal, a handgun and a knife aside before finding a prescription bottle. He pulled it out and handed it to Dean who looked down to see it was the pep-pills he'd bought a few days before. "Take those. They'll keep you awake. We can't let you fall asleep until we beat this thing."

Dean nodded, opening the bottle and dropping a few into his open palm. "You can at least get me coffee too." He muttered. Sam grinned lopsidedly and got off the bed, moving across the room to the counter to begin making coffee in the small coffee pot by the sink.

"Look at the computer." He said, filling the pot with water. "I think I found something about our mysterious Sandman."

Dean dry swallowed the pills and got slowly off the bed. His heart rate was slowing down but he still didn't feel quite like himself. He took a seat at the computer and scrolled through the webpage Sam had called up.

"It's all about the Sandman." Dean said, eyes skimming over the pages. Pictures of a tall, thin, pale man with messy black hair filled the screen. He appeared to be made of smoky, wispy lines of darkness. "This isn't what that kid looks like. He's kept his shape."

"Maybe he can't take on the form of the Sandman as he is as a character." Sam wondered out loud. Dean frowned, reading further.

"All the names he's been using, they are all from this Sandman comic-character. 'Morpheus,' 'Lord of the Sleeping Marches'…If he takes these names, why doesn't he take these forms…" Sam shrugged from the sink, leaning back against the counter.

"I don't know. There's still something missing." Sam said. "He's angry, becoming malevolent. He's strong, too. He broke that dream catcher way to easily. It's almost like he's trying to communicate something, but he's having trouble doing it." Dean nodded.

"We only have two days left." Dean said, closing his eyes. He let his face fall into his hands. He was tired still, despite the pills and the smell of coffee brewing.

"There's still something we're missing. I wish I could figure it out." Sam was frustrated; Dean could hear it clearly in his voice. "I'm going to figure it out, Dean." Dean didn't open his eyes or even look back at his brother. He didn't need to see Sam to imagine the determined look on his face. "I promise."

SUPERNATURAL

Sam opened his eyes. He was lying on the motel bed, the light from the street outside streaming in through the window. For a moment he laid still, staring at the ceiling and listening to the quiet patter of rain on the roof. Did it ever not rain in this god-forsaken town?

Sam sighed and rolled over, staring through the darkness of the room at Dean's bed. It was empty. Sam remembered trying to stay awake, but the steady combination of the sounds of explosions and screeching tires and the flashing lights from the television had lulled him to sleep.

Sam rolled onto his other side and saw the glow of the bathroom lights snaking out from under the door. He groaned and got up, pulling off the heavy motel blankets. The floor was chilly but he managed to ignore the goosebumps creeping up his bare arms as he made his way across the room and knocked lightly on the door.

There was no answer. Sam leaned in closer to the cold wood, pressing his shoulder into the door. "Dean?" He called, curiously. There was still no answer. "Are you okay?" Again, his call was met by silence.

Taking a step back, he weighed his options. Dean could be doing a few things in there, none of which Sam was really jonesing to walk in on. Other, less unpleasant options crossed his mind. When they had been younger, and Dean hadn't been able to sleep, he had sometimes locked himself in the bathroom with a walkman and sat down on the floor to listen to music without disturbing his brother or his father.

If any of these options were the case, the door would be locked. Then again, there was a possibility that Dean had drawn a bath and was now nerding out to his walkman, a beer and a classic cars magazine.

No matter what, however, the very real presence of Travis and his Sandman alter-ego were weighing heavily on both the brothers. Sam had to make sure his brother was okay.

Trying the doorknob, he found the bathroom unlocked. Turning the cool metal in his hand, he slowly opened the door and called his brother's name again. Like before, there was no answer.

The light hurt his eyes after the piercing darkness of the bedroom. Blinking, he squinted into the bathroom. The first thing he saw was the white and black tiled floor. His heart rate sped up as he caught sight of specks of yellow sand beside the tub.

"Dean?!" Sam rammed the door open in panic and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Dean was lying in the middle of the bathroom floor, on his side, sand pooling from his eyes and mouth onto the cold bathroom floor. Racing to his brother's side, Sam fell to the floor at his brother's side and turned him over onto his back.

With fumbling fingers, he found the artery in Dean's neck and pressed on it. There was no pulse, and with no room for air to pass in his throat, he knew right away that his brother was not breathing.

Ignoring the sickening chill clinging to his brother's skin or the purple shade that his lips had taken on, Sam pressed his ear desperately to Dean's chest and listened for a pulse. He couldn't hear anything but the frantic pounding of his own heart.

"Oh my god, Dean, come on." He flipped his brother onto his stomach and pressed down on his back, trying to press the sand from his brother's overflowing lungs. "Dean, come on!" He sobbed, pressing down again. He watched, horrified, as sand trickled out of his brother's mouth, growing the pile beneath his face.

A crash from the darkened bedroom made him pause. Sam stopped, staring out at the bedroom, trying to discern what had made the sound in the dark. There was silence. Getting slowly to his feet, he moved to the bathroom door, grabbing a shotgun leaning against the wall.

The room was now lit with the rectangular glow of the bathroom light. Pushing back the fear, Sam lifted the gun and pointed it into the room, searching desperately for any movement. Every second wasted was more time Dean was laying, deathly still, on the bathroom floor.

A motion from the doorway caught his eye and Sam fired blindly. The deafening bang echoed through the room. For a moment, the holes in the front door allowed street light to shine through but after a few seconds of silence, the light was swallowed up. Someone was standing in front of the door. Sam fired again. Whoever was there, they didn't move.

Dropping the gun, he turned back to his brother but the light went out and he was plunged into darkness. Sam closed his eyes tightly and when he opened them, he found himself pinned to the ceiling, held in place by invisible hands that dug into his skin and produced a fiery heat that felt like they were ripping away his skin.

Sam gasped, pulling against the bonds. They just gripped down tighter. Groaning, he stared around, trying to pierce the darkness. He could see shapes below him, sitting in rows that seemed to stretch on forever.

"I'm dreaming." He whispered, realization dawning. "I have to be dreaming." Sam closed his eyes, concentrating on his body and the room around him. He needed to get down off the roof. He needed to get down. He needed to get down. He needed to get down. Get down off the roof…

Suddenly, he was on the ground again, the invisible bonds holding him to the roof were stripped away. He stared around at the people sitting in rows around him and realized he was on an airplane. The silent rumble of engines beneath his feet, combined with the silent chatter of the faceless people in the seats…and by faceless, he saw just that. The people around him were completely blank canvases, no eyes…no noses…no mouths…no faces…

Unnerved, Sam began walking down the length of the plane. Somewhere, close by, Travis was watching him, orchestrating this dream. He didn't know how, but the kid had managed to jump ship, hoping from his brother to him without having to kill Dean. By all accounts, this was the first time he had been able to transfer himself like that. He was getting stronger.

"Sam." The voice was thin, muttered. Sam stared around at the faceless crowd, searching for his brother. "Sam."

"Dean? Where are you?" Sam called. He continued walking down the never-ending plane, pushing through the blue curtains separating one section from another…only, this section looked the same as the previous one.

The rational section of his brain told him that this was a dream but he still desperately wanted to find his brother. He knew how much Dean hated flying…

"Sam." He heard Dean's voice again. He stopped, looking around the room. It wasn't until the hushed voice called to him again that Sam realized where it was coming from. Stomach dropping, his head tilted back and he gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes meeting his brother's.

Dean was above him, pinned to the roof. Sam swallowed hard at the sight of Dean's ashen face and the blood dripping through his grey, long-sleeved shirt. The red droplets landed coldly on Sam's forehead and ran down the sides of his face to drip off his chin onto the floor.

"Sam. Get me down." Sam swallowed again and looked desperately around from something to stand on. Maybe if he could get a hold of Dean's arm, he could pull him to safety…

Suddenly, Dean's body was engulfed with flames. Around him, the faceless people titled their heads back, collectively turning their non-existent gazes up to the roof where Sam's brother's body burned. Horrified, frozen, Sam could only watch as his brother's body was incinerated, the heat kissing his face in the sweaty confines of the airplane.

It seemed like the blink of an eye and it was over, the fire was out and the roof of the airplane was gone. The rushing wind and open sky remained, threatening to suck Sam from the plane. Crouching down, he grabbed onto one of the seats behind him and looked back at the occupant. A faceless man stared back at him.

"Travis!" He screamed against the wind. "Travis!"

There was no response. Sam closed his eyes tightly as the speeding wind forced hair into his eyes. Nearby, a flight attendant calmly served tea to a man in a suit. No one around seemed to notice that the plane no longer had a roof.

"Travis! I want to see you! Face me!" Sam screamed.

"Sam." The voice came from behind him. Sam opened his eyes and squinted against the rushing air. Turning, he looked back at the occupant of the seat he was huddled against. The faceless man was gone. The little boy, Travis, was sitting there now. He looked down at Sam emotionlessly. "Find the Sandman."

The world was gone and Sam found himself staring up at the motel ceiling. Gasping, he sat up and ignored the rush that sent a sharp pounding pressure through his head and made his vision fuzz out for a second.

"Sam?" Looking over, Sam's eyes found Dean. He was sitting at the table, the laptop open in front of him. The lights from the kitchen were on, bathing the room in a creamy orange glow, illuminating the coffee maker which was brewing a fresh pot. "Are you okay? What happened? What's wrong?"

Sam glanced around the room hurriedly. The bathroom light was off; the shotgun was still lying by the door. "Am I awake?" Dean raised his eyebrows in response.

"That depends." He answered. Crinkling his eyebrows in confusion, Sam got quickly off the bed and moved across the room, grabbing a cup from the sink. He filled it with coffee and took a giant sip, ignoring the eye-watering heat that scorched his throat. He definitely felt awake, but he had in his dream too.

"Why did you let me fall asleep?" Dean rubbed at his eyes.

"Because I'm an awesome brother." He answered. It sounded familiar, but Sam ignored it.

"We have to talk." Sam said. "I think I figured something out."

TBC


End file.
